


The Pyromancer

by paraduxks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Crystals, Elemental Magic, Family, Friendship, Gang Violence, Gangs, Gen, High School, Jewelry, Mystery, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Hatred, Underage Drinking, Violence, a halloween party, allura and hunk are the voices of reason but they abandon that real quick, angsty keith, half cheesy comedy and half murder mystery, keith is from arizona, keith is sad, keith is the patron saint of unreliable narrators, lance wants to be sherlock but he's watson, one of those rich people parties that nobody in books ever enjoys, pidge wants the guys to stop messing with her stuff but only sort of, pop culture references, shiro is important but he's not there half the time, shit gets weird real fast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraduxks/pseuds/paraduxks
Summary: On the surface, Dorset was a perfect little town. It was the sort of place wealthy people left cities for, the type of place people took pictures of. The antithesis of where he used to live. Only a little digging will tell you about the high Weaver population and the rampant gang issue. Before all that, you’ll know about the killings. Over the past three years, there have been twenty five murders in Dorset.All the victims were Weavers. Weavers like Keith.





	1. Prologue: Acromatic

**Author's Note:**

> heyo
> 
> i just wanted to get this out before s8 airs, but please read it nonetheless. it's a super fun story, i promise you'll like at least some of it! 
> 
> this chapter: set up and keith's angsty backstory

Some people were born that way. It was like being gay, or left handed, or anything else his dad could come up with when he fucked up. Sometimes he needed to hear it, but more often than not, Keith wanted to punch his dad square in the jaw. He didn't need to hear he was innocent, especially when he wasn't. He never needed to hear it, especially not when he'd almost killed three people.

His father loved trying and make him feel normal about his gift. That was easy for him to say, though, as a fireman. He was lucky, whereas Keith was at the opposite end of the luck spectrum. He didn't have a job, couldn't afford a lawyer. He was  probably  facing charges of attempted murder. The person he was closest to lived on the opposite side of the country. More recently, he was hungover and terrified. His father was sitting next to him, one hand his shoulder. He had a lot to say about what Keith had done, but he couldn't find it in himself to blame his son. He kept repeating the same bullshit about how being a Weaver was the same as being gay or left handed. He always said that when Keith screwed up, and every time it made him want to break something. He was missing the point by miles. It wasn't comforting, or an excuse. It was a waste of breath. Worst of all, his father didn't seem to care about why they were in the hospital in the first place.

Keith had landed three people in the hospital because he couldn't control his powers. Everyone else who was to blame wasn't in the room. His father would pin it on them anyway. He wouldn't yell at Keith, even though he deserved it. If he was anyone else, he would have  been arrested  already. His father managed to get him out of the arson charges.

Keith fiddled with the ring he wore on his right hand, as he’d been doing since arriving at the hospital. The skin on his finger had gone pink, and it was starting to hurt. He deserved it. There were times when Keith hated who he was, but not even his previous mistakes held up to this. He’d done one of the worst possible things.

It was a Friday, and Keith was going to a baseball game with his father. That is, he was until a boy named James had invited him over to smoke. Someone had cancelled on him, and since Keith was a pretty cool dude- James’ words, not his- he was the replacement. Had the two been closer James would’ve called him a stoner instead. Another friend of James, a girl named Nadia, had also been there. They thought it was quite impressive how smoke didn't affect Keith at all. He said it was a special talent of his. He could’ve stood in burning building thrice a lethal amount of time walked out fine. The only problem he had with weed was the smell- It was unpleasant, gave him a headache.

Keith liked the feeling of being high, but there was something off that afternoon. The three of them  were packed  onto a tiny couch in James’ basement.  He fidgeted around for a couple minutes, trying find a comfortable position, until the weed started to kick in and it became too much of an effort . At that point, he gave up and threw his legs over the arm of the couch.

He was hyper aware of every point of contact he had with Nadia. She was too close. The warmth of her skin seeped into his, which was comfortable enough. Then she'd turn around to make a joke or pass him something, and her eyes were right in front of his face and she was too close.

The cloud of smoke that surrounded them was hurting his head. He squinted to see the television before them- They were watching some reruns of Big Bang Theory. The volume was  just  loud enough to hurt his ears. Keith chalked it up to the shit day he’d been having.

And then James decided that  being stoned  wasn't enough; they should also get drunk. They left his house with alcohol on their minds. They traipsed about Tucson for a while, and Keith wound up enjoying himself. He laughed along with the two of them, he giggled , he forgot about enough things to feel light and airy. If he had been sober, he’d have been counting the streets, watching as they slipped away.  If he had been sober, he’d have taken off his ring- Enameled with the symbol of the gang his mother belonged to in her youth- before leaving James' house . If he had been sober, he wouldn't have left the basement. 

If Keith had been sober, he’d have turned on his heel and left as soon as he stepped into the bar. It was mellow for a Friday night. The radio was playing old pop music. The air was warm and dry, almost soft. Keith felt like he could trust the bar, and he could trust himself to be there. He didn't notice how almost everyone there bore the same tattoo, marking them part of the Empire.

They approached the bar and sat down. James began speaking with a stranger. He had beady brown eyes and a gray mustache.  He dressed like the Monopoly Man, and must’ve been an economist or something, going off the way he talked about money.  James was knowledgeable enough about the Arizona stock market to hold a conversation with him, although the conversation soon diverged to include Nadia and Keith 

The man offered to pay for their drinks, which Keith found strange. It seemed illegal, buying drinks for minors.  But free drinks were free drinks, even if they did come from someone who looked equal parts greedy banker and pedophile. If Keith were sober, he would have noticed the Empire insignia running the length of the man’s forearm.

After buying a round of beers, they moved with the Monopoly Man to an empty booth in a secluded corner. Nadia stretched out in the wraparound booth, excited by the fancy seat. Keith had to admit, the coolness of the leather seeping through his clothes felt good. As the night grew fuzzier, he began to care less and less about his posture. He slouched and rested his elbows on the table, and even began to talk with his hands. He found he liked it when the Monopoly Man looked at him. It was like being the teacher’s favorite student. If he were sober, he would’ve noticed the look was a glare, focusing on his hands rather than his face.

James’ mother called him a little past midnight, saying that it was time for him to come home. He panicked, almost  violently , as he tried to get out of the booth. The Monopoly Man put a hand on his shoulder and offered to drive him home. Looking back, Keith should've been suspicious far earlier. An old dude getting some kids drunk and then taking them somewhere else was weird, right? He didn't say anything about it, though. He left the bar with the rest of them, and followed the Monopoly Man to his car.

“Not you,” He growled when Keith tried to climb into the back seat, “Not you, son. You can walk.”

“What?” Keith asked  dumbly  . His mind was still tie dyed. He couldn't think, didn't remember where he’d fucked up.  The Monopoly Man slammed the car door shut, and through his haze Keith recognized that something was wrong . He could see James and Nadia looking surprised and sort of…sad through the window. That wasn't good. They were pretty happy people.

“You think I’m gonna give scum like yerself a ride?” The Monopoly Man spat. He guffawed shortly and thrust a thick finger into Keith’s face. “Not today, boy.”

“Scum like me?” Keith repeated. He hadn't done anything. He’d been on his best behavior the whole night. Did he look weird or something?

“Don't play dumb, boy!” The Monopoly Man shouted, and grabbed Keith’s wrist. He yanked his hand up to fill the small gap between their faces. “I ain’t no fool. I seen this ring before. You’re one of them Marmorites, aren't you?” Spittle flew from his lips, and he prodded Keith’s ring on the word Marmorite. Finally, it clicked. The ring had been his mother’s, enameled with the symbol of her old gang- The Blade of Marmora.

“No,” Keith said, and pulled his wrist into his chest. It took him two attempts. “No, this isn't mine.”

“Whose is it then?” The Monopoly Man sneered.

“My mom,” He said, almost proud. The Monopoly Man’s glare intensified as he stepped into Keith’s space. He was rather large. He was taller than Keith and much broader. As Keith took a couple steps back, it occurred to him that he  was fucked  . The man looked like he could snap him like a pencil. Keith would break his hand trying to hit him. His heart raced faster the closer the man got, until he was pressing himself into the outside wall of the bar. He wondered if he'd phase through the wall if he pressed hard enough.  Though the Monopoly Man’s livid face was occupying most of his vision, Keith could still see the car over his shoulder  . The door was opening, Nadia and James were climbing out. He thanked them  silently , though his heart still raced in fear.

“You got a lot of nerve coming here, little Marmorite,” The Monopoly Man sneered. “We don't take kindly to y’all. Y’all lost our little fight, so you’re not welcome here anymore. I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson now.” He grabbed Keith by the arm. His fingers were hard on his veins and dug under tendons.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” Keith shouted, and tried to jerk his arm free, but the man held on with an iron grip. He twisted and squirmed, until the Monopoly Man grabbed the collar of his shirt with his free hand. Keith’s eyes fell to the man’s hands.

“Listen, you piece of shit. I was being nice before, but if you’re gonna be like that-” Keith twisted his head away from the man. His breath reeked of alcohol. “-I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

“W-What lesson is that?” Keith asked, his voice shaking, “You’re ‘being nice?’ D-Don't guys like you say shit like that to g-get into people’s pants?” With that, the guy hit him in the solar plexus. Upon impact, Keith groaned and fell forward. With his free hand, the man grabbed a handful of Keith’s bangs.

“Wait-” He stammered, before the man slammed his head back into the wall. Keith thought he heard something crunching, and his vision went blurry. The man smashed his head into the wall a second time- He thought- before he crumpled to the ground. His head throbbed as though someone had driven a knife into the back of his skull. Black spots appeared across his vision. Where was he again?

There were people talking. He could hardly hear them, but they sounded distressed. He wondered what was wrong. Tilting his head so he could see them felt like he’d tossed himself into a hurricane. He groaned, trying to force himself to look in the direction of the people. The black spots dotting his vision increased tenfold. Was it normal to feel the Earth spinning beneath him? Had the sidewalk always been so hot?

A weight fell on his shoulder. It was warm and heavy, and if he squinted, he could see the clear outline of a hand. 

“No,” Keith mumbled, feeling more drunk than he had all night, “Go away.”

“Come on, Marmorite,” said the Monopoly Man, “Get up.” His hand was moving- it left Keith’s shoulder and came up under his armpit, tugged him to his feet. The hand returned to his shoulder, pressing him into the wall again. Keith shrugged the man’s hand off of his shoulder, and began to shuffle away. James and Nadia had been there, right? Where were they now?

“James?” He asked, and stumbled to the left. His legs wobbled, and he flailed his arms about for something, anything, to stabilize him. Someone grabbed his wrist, and that was it. His instincts took over, and he snapped the fingers of his trapped hand. With a low whooshing sound, flames sprung and surrounded his body. They jumped from him to the arm of the person holding him, to the ground, and spread. Keith fell back against the wall now, sucking air down as hard as he could, before he realized what he’d done. His eyes shot open.

The smell of burning flesh was thick in the air.  Though all three of the people around him were dealing with their own small fires, it appeared that James was experiencing the worst of it . Keith’s heart sank- Why did it have to be James?! James was kind to him, ever since he switched schools in second grade, and now he’d set him on fire? Fucking pat on the back, Keith. Fucking gold star.

He stumbled as he stepped towards James, almost collapsing again.

“James, give me your hand!” James didn't respond. He shrieked and tried to put out the flames licking their way up his body by hitting them with the heels of his hands. Keith reached out and grabbed James’ arm. He stumbled again in the process. His body wasn't working right yet. He fell, dragging James down with him. The fire spread from his arms to his chest, and that was where Keith planted his palms. If he could gain control over the flames, he could draw them away from James. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, and focused on the fire. The warmth, it's disagreeable nature-

“Get away from me, you freak!” James shouted, and shoved Keith away.

“No, James, I-” Keith fell backwards. When he threw out his hands to catch himself, new flames sprung up beneath his palms.

“Shut up, you disgusting Marmorite!” The man shouted. Keith hardly had time to look up before he caught a kick to the side. He groaned as the man shoved him in the opposite direction. Yet more fire sprung up from the place he landed. “You’re disgusting,” Someone said, and Keith didn't even bother saying anything back. They were right. He could only try to draw the fire and the heat back into himself. It was his only hope. Try as he might, that didn't stop the man from kicking him again, James from crying out in pain, Nadia from sobbing. All he could do was try to draw the flames back into his soul.

Sirens began to blare, although Keith couldn't tell if they were real at first. As it turned out, they were. His body  was heaved  from the ground and walked into the back of an ambulance. After that, everything blurred together. He remembered the ice against his bruised ribs. He remembered hearing he needed stitches for a fracture to the back of his skull.  Nothing else stood out until his father walked into his hospital room, pulled him from the bed, and hugged him tight  . These sorts of hugs  were reserved  for hospital visits.

“Dad,” Keith murmured, pawing  uselessly  at his shoulders. “I’m so sorry-”

“Shhh,” His father whispered, “It’s okay, Keith.”

“’S not,” He mumbled into his father’s shoulder. He held his breath, shut his eyes as  tightly  as he could. “I fucked up…” His throat felt tight, like he was allergic to the smell of hospitals.

“Shhh,” His father whispered. He rubbed circles onto Keith’s back. He continued to make soft shushing noises, and started to sway, like he was rocking a baby. “You’re okay now, bud. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“But-”

“You’re okay,” His father said again, a bit harsher this time. He took a step back, holding onto Keith’s shoulders. “Everything’s gonna be okay. But things are gonna change soon. You might wanna sit down for this.” He pushed down on Keith’s shoulders. He was too tired to put up any real resistance, and immediately collapsed to the hospital bed. His head spun, and he had to focus  intensely  to  retain  what his father was saying.

“I’ve been talking to your mom again recently. She’s in town for a case-”

“What?” Keith asked, incredulous, “Why didn't you tell me?” His father sighed, and glanced off to the side.

“She wasn't sure how you’d react. She didn't want you to get upset, ‘cause she knows you, uh, weren't too happy when she left.”

“Not too happy,” Keith bit out. He crossed his arms. Not too happy was an understatement if he’d ever heard one.

“I know, buddy. It was hard for both of us.”

“I guess,” Keith spat. He’d grown used to pretending he didn't have a mom, used to pretending Krolia was some sort of evil demon. He was fine with it. It hadn't been an issue since making mother’s day cards at school was a mandatory thing.

“Like I was saying, she’s in town for a case. We talked the other day- Don't interrupt me, Keith,” Keith shut his mouth and tucked his chin into his chest. He  totally  hadn't been about to ask a hundred questions. “And we got to talking about you. She said that since you’re about to start your senior year, you might wanna consider going out to see her some time. ‘Fore you go off to college.” His father paused, wincing. “Then we got the call saying you got in a fight. We had a bit of a spat over it, but we made a decision.”

“What do you mean, made a decision?" 

“Keith, your mom thinks it would be best if you moved up to Vermont to live with her.”

“What?!” He shouted, and leapt off the bed. Black spots filled his vision, his head reeling. “What the fuck, dad?!”

“I know, bud, I know.”

“No you fucking don’t-”

“Watch your language, bud. Your mom thinks livin’ in the city is stressin’ you out. Makin’ you all…violent and such.” His father said. “And Keith, I do know. Remember how we made you, I implore.” Keith only grunted.  There had been some rule against dating in the his mom's gang, and because of it, parents relationship was a covert affair  .  Naturally  , they fucked in high school. His mother got pregnant, then kicked out of the gang, and then disowned by her parents. She moved in with his father. They were lucky his parents were willing to pay for the everything. She had very  narrowly  missed giving birth in a dumpster.

“Now, we’ve talked. I don't agree with her a hundred percent, but she makes some good points. Are you okay with seeing her now?” Keith only huffed and sat back down. He thought it’d be obvious.

In pre-school, his mom had up and left without any explanation to him or his father. She came back, after a couple months, but after that, she was weird and distant. She kept on leaving, too.  Keith treasured the times when his family was together, but it turned sour when his parents started fighting . They were loud when they were angry. If he was unlucky enough to be in the room when an argument started, anything he’d say or do made it worse.

They fought over his mother’s job, mostly- She was like the magic police, his dad always said. Sometimes they fought over him. Krolia wanted to bring Keith with her, said he needed to have a mom, that he was being lead down the wrong path by his father. His father thought said that was bullshit, and never budged an inch.  When things got bad, Keith would remember how very capable his parents were of killing each other- Fire and water don't mix, after all .

And then one day, after a particularly nasty fight, Krolia flipped the coffee table- Shattering a couple mugs- and left  . She slammed the door so hard it echoed for weeks, and didn't look back. Then eleven years went by. And now he  was supposed  to be fine with her coming back out of the blue and wanting him to move to fucking Vermont with her?  I think  the fuck not.

There was not even a single okay thing about it. Even so, Keith didn't have any say in it. It was his parents’ stupid argument, and they’d pretty much made up their minds in advance. He knew they hadn't been planning on telling him at the worst possible time. He still didn't forgive them.

And  suddenly  , it was the day before he was getting on a plane to live with his ‘mom’. Their flight left around one, meaning they had to be at the airport late at night. Keith wasted most of the day in his room. He spent a few odd hours packing everything he owned into suitcases and cardboard boxes. When he finished, his room looked too empty to call his own. He sat on the floor, head leaned against the wall. He stared  numbly  at his phone screen, after sending a big apology paragraph to James. He only received five words in response:

**Youre just  another Weaver freak. **


	2. Chapter 1: Atomic Number 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> henlo 
> 
> i return and bless you with a chapter
> 
> it's a long boi this one (7,491 words)
> 
> happy reading folks

Keith pulled his headphones out of his ears and set his phone down next to him on the mattress. He exhaled slowly and looked up at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the open window. Beyond the dim glow of his screen, he could see tree branches, blocking out the light from the stars. There were so many stars- Of course, he knew there were more stars than he could ever hope to count. Seeing them, however, was an entirely different thing. The night sky he knew was a deep, nearly black purple, and the only stars were headlights of helicopters. The night was also loud back in Tucson, at least outside his dad’s apartment. He never needed a nightlight, and no matter what time of day, there was the constant hum of cars and people and movement. 

From his new bedroom, nature had replaced humans as the creators of the background hum. The cicadas were raucous enough to give street he used to live on a run for its money. Even fainter was the sound of Saving Private Ryan playing downstairs. His mother got up from the couch and left the house on a phone call about ten minutes into the movie, so Keith pulled out his phone to text his friend, Shiro, but by the way his responses petered out after ten forty five, he had fallen asleep. The movie halfway over and Krolia had yet to return, so he went to his room with the company of his gargantuan dog. 

He groaned on the way up the stairs. His legs were cramped after a six hour plane ride and three hour drive to Krolia’s house. The day of travel had exhausted him. He had gotten about three hours of sleep over the course of the past five days, and as much as he’d like to blame someone else, it was all his fault. If he hadn't gone into that bar, he would still be in Tucson. He wondered for the millionth time,  _ Why did I let myself go into that bar? _

He should’ve been asleep. It was after midnight in Tucson, and he had only gone to sleep when his phone died last night- Or early that morning, depending on how you looked at it. He wasn't tired, even though his feet ached and he had been fighting to stay awake not too long ago. He had put his hair up and taken the ponytail out three times in the past hour, and had listened to his entire music library. There was nothing happening. It was quiet and loud at the same time in his new bedroom. 

Keith rolled onto his stomach and turned his face away from the window. His dog lay on the mattress behind him, asleep. He sunk his fingers into the soft fur of Kosmo’s side. He lazily moved his hand back and forth before the movement grew tedious and he stopped. It hit him again that this was home now. He lived in Dorset, Vermont, a podunk town so far north it was basically Canada. There weren't even any shopping malls in the area. The nearest city was two hours away, and he doubted that he would ever have any reason to go there. There was one school that everyone went to, and they had all known each other since they were in the womb. He would be the kid sitting alone at the end of the lunch table, and people would begrudgingly work with him on group projects. He just hoped it stayed that way. If anybody noticed what he was, he might need to move again. 

There was nothing but vividly green foliage around the house. Keith remembered hearing somewhere that green leaves made more smoke when you burned them. He could learn firsthand if that was true, at the cost of being thrown back on an airplane plane before he could even defend himself. 

Keith pulled his jacket off and rolled onto his side. He stared at his arms. Not a single hair out of place, nor follicle raised. It got much colder than he was used to here, and not a single goosebump. This was fine, this was normal. He wasn't a freak just because he wasn't getting goosebumps. He could hide that. Besides, it could’ve been genetic or something. Yeah, his father had liked to keep the temperature at the apartment so low most guests couldn't stand it, but Keith had always been fine. And didn't goosebumps take a couple minutes to show up sometimes? He didn't know. He cast his gaze back to the open window, back to the stars. He couldn't recognize any constellations. The only ones he even knew were Ursa Major and Cassiopeia. 

He wondered if he’d ever seen the sky black and speckled with stars in Tucson, seen the world bathed in silver light, seen the Milky Way in all its glory. He must’ve, there was no way he could go seventeen years without ever seeing the sky like this. He was used to seeing a colorful night sky, but not one made that way by the limbs of a galaxy. The night sky was colorful with light pollution, but Arizona was also colorful during the day. How could it be that he’d lived his whole life with the sky varying shades of purple, orange, and blue? 

With that thought, Keith picked his phone back up and rolled onto his stomach. He stared at the black screen for a moment, and then pressed his thumb to the on button. His home screen picture was taken a few years ago, during a time when the power had gone out at school. Shiro stood in the foreground, looking slightly confused, while some girls were hugging and a boy was looking confused in the background. The picture was shaky and looked like it was taken in black and white. That was from freshman year.

Cheesy as it was to say, Keith wished he could go back in time. Freshman year had been a simpler time. More often than not, things were okay. At home, there were movie nights every Friday, and the movie was always Keith’s choice. It was more often than not something that came out years before he was born and made his dad say something the long the lines of ‘Really? You know that movie? Okay’. His dad still had his Nintendo 64 from high school, even though it hadn't worked in years. And Shiro was like his best friend slash cool older brother. In the eyes of the world, he was pretty much a superhero. He played football, basketball, and ran track. He was smart and attractive, which made him perfect to a large sum of people. 

Shiro also let Keith hang out with him and his friends. It was pretty cool, especially since he didn't have any friends in his own grade. Shiro’s friends were way cooler than anybody Keith would have been hanging out with anyway. His group consisted of three other people; Slav, a sixteen year old senior, Vakala, the living embodiment of BuzzFeed Unsolved, and Adam, Shiro’s boyfriend. They were awesome, to put it simply. 

They sometimes brought Keith along when they went out. Since Shiro and Adam were both stars of various athletic teams, they made it a ritual to have a victory sleepover every time they won a game. They went to parties (Keith prefered to skip those, except the April 20th Weed Party a stoner in the marching band threw every year.) and got drunk, although they prefered to keep Keith away from alcohol. Vakala and Slav tried to teach him C++ over Thanksgiving break. They argued, cursed, and went off on too many tangents for him to understand anything. It didn't help that Slav clung to his belief that Python was a better programming language. Keith didn't understand half the words that came out of their mouths. Freshman Keith would be amazed at what Senior Keith could do, and not just in terms of computer programming. 

And then Spring Break rolled around. Shiro’s mother died. Breast cancer. That’s what had happened, and that’s what they were supposed to say. After that, Shiro became more anxious. He’d never met his father, and had no idea of where to even start looking for him. He had already turned eighteen, so he was on his own after the funeral. It was a good thing he had already been accepted at Boston University, or he would have had to settle for something in Tucson. Not even a week later, he and Adam broke up. 

Adam was going to Vancouver for college, and didn't want to do a long distance relationship, because when people tried to keep dating their high school sweethearts and didn't go to the same college, they always had a long, messy breakup. It was better to be long distance friends. Keith had always found that ridiculous. He was long distance friends with Shiro through the rest of high school and they almost stopped talking to each other twice. Long distance relationships were hard, romantic or otherwise. 

After his mother’s death, Shiro asked to stay over at his house one night, and his father found it a bit strange, but he agreed. And then one day it was July and Shiro was still there. It wound up one of the best summers of Keith’s life. He wound up actually befriending Shiro’s friends. He forgot that they only liked him because Shiro did. They went biking in the desert, got high sitting on the fire escape outside Keith’s bedroom window, went swimming. Everyone talked about going on a road trip to LA or someplace cool like that, but they never did. Keith was okay with it. The fantasy would doubtlessly be better than the reality. Besides, he wasn't sure if they could all stand being in a car together that long. 

And then it was September the fun was over. Sure, it returned in the summers that followed, but then Vakala got a girlfriend and suddenly he didn't have time for the rest of them, and Slav was too busy with school and work. And then Adam decided that he was going to stay in Vancouver permanently. Their group turned into just Keith and Shiro. When he was home, a weight was lifted off Keith’s shoulders. He was exhausted the other nine months out of the year, though. It got out at school that his mom had left him, and some people thought it was damn hilarious. Sophomore year, the closest thing he had to a friend his own age, a boy named Regris, moved to Phoenix. After that, Keith was truly alone.

He got into fights sometimes. Preferred not to start them, but it was merely a preference. He would kick anyone’s ass if it was necessary. If he did, though, a counselor would tell him that it was never necessary and suspend him. He didn't do it on purpose, it just sort of happened. He wondered again if it was genetic, but pushed the thought away just as soon as he’d had it. It’d do him no good to reminisce. Keith shifted on the mattress, and pulled Kosmo closer to him. He buried his face in his fur. The dog shifted slightly in his sleep.

He had grown so much over the past three years. When they had first gotten the dog, he was small enough to fit on Keith’s lap. He could hold the Kosmo up like a cat- In fact, there was a framed picture of him doing so. It was one of the only ones he had brought from his father’s apartment. Now, the dog took up nearly half the bed. Keith had a theory that he wasn't just a husky. He must’ve part great dane or mastiff or something. Or maybe he just loved Kosmo so much it was a Clifford The Big Red Dog situation. Keith smiled softly at that, and pressed his face into Kosmo’s side. He thought his dog was probably his closest friend after Shiro. That position used to be occupied by his father, but due to recent events, Kosmo had been promoted. 

Keith pressed his cheek further into Kosmo’s side. His long fur tickled Keith’s nose, making it difficult to breathe. Keith squeezed his dog tighter, and moved his legs up to curl himself around Kosmo. He wondered if it was sad that he was spooning a dog and not a person, but there wasn't anyone he’d like to cuddle with. Maybe his dad, but only if it was like when he was seven years old and snuck into his father’s bed every morning for hugs before school. And of course, he’d gone and fucked it up. 

“Why am I a failure, Kosmo?” He asked, petting Kosmo gently. 

 

Keith was awake with the sunrise. His window was facing east, and his bed was facing the window. He made a mental note to change that. He probably never would. Waking up early wasn't a bad habit to get into, even if it sucked. 

He turned away from the window and laid on his side for a few moments. Kosmo had left the room at some point during the night. His room was bare, and it irked him. The walls were stark white, and the only things he brought with him were a couple boxes of photos and clothes. More importantly, though, was his bed. It was currently a mattress on the floor. He ought to get the frame upstairs. He sat up, and checked the time on his phone. 5:42. 

He stood up from the mattress and left his room. The house looked different in the morning. Even though it was all tight hallways and narrow, rectangular rooms, it seemed more welcoming somehow. The pale green walls looked brighter and the dark wood floors looked shinier. Keith ran his fingertips along the wall next to him as he walked through the halls and down the stairs. They let up at an awkward place between the living room and the kitchen, which were separated by a wall that was a bit too close to the stairs for Keith’s liking. He knocked his elbow against it as he stepped into the kitchen. He was greeted by a happy Kosmo. He smiled softly at the dog, and reached down to scratch behind his ears.

“Hey, boy!” He said, voice shrill, “How’s my favorite doggy?” Keith heard a soft chuckle. His head shot up, and he choked on air. Krolia was leaning against the counter next to the toaster, gazing softly into a mug of coffee. Shit, of course she was up at the asscrack of dawn too. 

She met his eyes, and suddenly Keith couldn't move. 

“You’re up early.” His eyes fell to the floor, as if there was a teleprompter down there somewhere. 

“Yeah. I wake up early,” He said. Krolia raised one eyebrow. Keith swallowed. He was fairly certain he could hear his heartbeat. 

“Do you drink coffee, Keith?” Krolia asked. She gestured to the coffee maker, and an empty mug sitting next to it. 

“No.” Krolia hooked the handle of one mug with her finger, and opened a cabinet. He turned away, and took a step towards the stairs before-

“Keith, wait.” He turned back around. 

“What,” He deadpanned. 

“I need to talk to you about some important things,” Krolia said. Keith nodded. She was still staring at him. It made his skin prickle hotly, uncomfortably so. He tapped his fingers against his thigh and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. His stomach growled, loud enough for Krolia to hear. The corner of her mouth twitched. 

“Want some toast?” As if on cue, the toaster popped. She blinked, something of a surprised look on her face, and went on with making her toast. Keith jumped at the sound, his eyes snapping to the toaster. He could make toast on his own. 

“I- I’m good,” He said quietly. He edged his way around the corner of the misplaced wall and leaned against it, crossing his arms. “So…uh, can I ask you a question?” He asked. Krolia looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

“Go ahead.” 

“Why did you want me to move here?” 

“Why do you ask?” He shrugged. 

“W-Well, there’s nothing here. Just…infinite farms.”

“I’ve already told you, I think it would be good for you to get out of the city. And I have to live out here. For work.” Keith rolled his eyes. Yeah, right. She probably thought he was a danger to society. She was a Hydromancer, after all. They hated Pyromancers. It was stupid to think she wouldn't. She had no reason not to. She’d probably been hoping for a Hydromancer or a Luscimancer when she’d been pregnant with him. It figured that he was born a Pyromancer. 

“What exactly is your job?” He asked, raising his voice a little. She sighed softly, and scrunched up her mouth for a moment before looking him in the eye. 

“Have you ever seen…What’s the show…Law and Order SVU?” He shook his head. “It’s pretty much…That.” 

“You’re a homicide detective?” Keith asked slowly. That was a little weird. Dorset was like the perfect small town in every romance novel. He couldn't picture it needing much of a police force. She shook her head. 

“Sort of.” How could you sort of be a homicide detective? It didn't seem like there was a whole lot of a gray area to it. Of course, if there was, that was exactly where Krolia would work. 

“How can you-” 

“So,” Krolia interrupted, “Plan for the day: Get your stuff unpacked, go grocery shopping, laundry, walk the dog. I’ve got work today, so that’s up to you. I left a list and money on the table for you. I should get home pretty late, so you’ve got all day.” Keith nodded. “And take a shower. You smell like stale weed.” With the remainder of her toast in hand, Krolia left the kitchen. Keith squatted and pressed himself up against Kosmo, and kissed the side of his head before standing up. 

He made himself some toast before taking a shower and getting dressed. 

 

Keith went grocery shopping in the morning, and found himself regretting his choice to leave as soon as he got out of the shower. It was unreasonably cold for August, and his wet hair was dripping all over his shirt. It chilled him slightly, and when he parked the car outside of the nearest grocery store to the house, he was wishing it was cold enough to wear a jacket. His arms still didn't have goosebumps, though. 

It took him well over an hour to collect everything on the shopping list. It was long, and full of unusual things. There were a couple different kinds of meat, along with several different kinds of seeds, spices, and herbs, a bouquet of roses and lilies. There were also things one would expect to be on a shopping list- Eggs, cheese, bread, potatoes, olive oil. Keith even needed to use his fake ID to purchase brandy and scotch. He wondered if Krolia knew he had a fake ID, if she knew sending him with just a handful of twenty dollar bills would not go wrong. Keith felt somewhat dazed as he left the grocery store, laden with paper bags. 

When he got to the car, Keith put the bags in the trunk and his hair in a ponytail before slamming the trunk and walking around to open the front door. Just as he touched the door handle, he saw a flash of red. He looked over his shoulder, scanning the area. There was nothing that didn't look like it belonged- just small businesses. The only one open was a small jewelry store across the street. The window display held a rainbow of gem-studded bracelets, necklaces, and rings. The lights in the window were warm, causing the jewelry on display to twinkle. Keith had never been a jewelry person, but there was something about the little storefront- Something that had him reaching for the crumpled bills in his pocket.

A breeze swept past, blowing in the direction of the jewelry store. He stepped forward, his eye catching on a necklace. It was beautiful. A dark, polished stone hung from a silver chain. It seemed to twinkle in the early morning sun. The edges were jagged, probably enough to break skin. It looked warm and heavy, and Keith felt a sudden urge to have the necklace rest against his collarbones. It belonged there. He took a moment to picture it. Warmth would bleed into his chest, an echo of the warmth he felt when he snapped his fingers and a flame sprung to life in his hand. 

He should’ve left and never gone back. He’d was old enough to know that these sorts of feelings were dangerous. Everything to do with magic was. But there was something about the jewelry shop that felt familiar, like he was coming home after a long day. 

Keith’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He jumped, heart racing for a moment. He pulled his phone out of his jeans, and saw that he had a text from Shiro. He let out a long exhale. It was just Shiro. He spared one last glance at the jewelry store before he turned around, got in the car, and opened the text. 

 

**You doing okay?**

**Shiro | 8:22**

 

Keith had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep himself from grinning. Shiro was one of the only people who actually cared about him and not what he did. He’d been starting to feel like he was trapped under the surface of a lake that had frozen over, banging on the underside of the ice. A dangerous, troubled youth, the poster child of how not to raise your kids. 

 

_ yep _

Me | 8:23

 

_ you? _

Me | 8:23

 

**I’ve been better. Football is kind of kicking my ass right now**

**Shiro | 8:23**

 

Keith began to type out another message, but backspaced out of it a couple times before finally settling on one. 

 

_ thought you didn't start school until august _

Me | 8:25

 

**I don't. This is pre-season.**

**Shiro | 8:25**

 

  1. _how are the nfl draft prospects_



Me | 8:25

 

**It has been six years**

**Shiro | 8:26**

 

_ so it has _

Me | 8:27 

 

Back when Shiro had still been looking for colleges, he had made a joke that if he failed the SAT, he’d get a full ride off of football. It became a joke within their group to escalate the level at which Shiro was competing. It stopped being funny after a couple days, but it was revived when Shiro actually did wind up getting a scholarship in Boston. Keith admitted that the joke was low hanging fruit, but what else could he do? His entire life was fucked because of an Empire douchebag.  _ An Empire douchebag you let attack you, _ he reminded himself. 

 

**Keith**

**Shiro | 8:29**

 

_ this is he _

Me | 8:29

 

**Are you actually okay?**

**Shiro | 8:29**

 

_ im fine _

Me | 8:30

 

**You havent even told me what happened yet. Not to pressure you, but itd probably be good if you did.**

**Shiro | 8:30**

 

_ i will.  _

Me | 8:31

 

Keith bit his bottom lip. Krolia’s house was in Vermont. Only a few hours away from Boston. Shiro was in Boston. Keith glanced at the bottom of the screen. Shiro was still typing out a response, so he typed out a quick  _ gtg _ and turned his phone off. He shoved it in his pocket, and pulled out of his parking space. 

Keith found his drive home too quiet, too slow. He also reveled in it. It had been a long time since he’d done anything like this- Alone, in silence. He supposed he missed it. There was always something to be heard in Tucson. The sounds of the city, for one. People talking, cars going. He put his headphones in whenever he had to walk anywhere alone, and if he wasn't alone, there was conversation. Or he was on his father’s motorcycle, which he hadn't been allowed to ride since he crashed it and broke his hips, a leg, and a few ribs. All he remembered was waking up in the hospital. 

When he returned to the house, he found the front door flung open. He got out of the car, abandoning the groceries, and rushed into the house. 

“Krolia?” He yelled from the front door. His voice echoed faintly, but there was no response. The lights were off, making the house take on a different appearance than it had earlier that morning. Keith glanced over his shoulder at the car, and then went further into the house. A loud crunching sound split the air. He yelped and leapt backwards, scrutinizing everything. He sighed when he saw it- a dry, brown leaf, right where he’d just been standing. 

“Stupid,” He muttered. Now that he was paying attention, the floor of the entryway was littered in leaves, all just as dry and brown as the one he had stepped on. “What the fuck.” As he wandered the house in search of Krolia, he noticed a few rather odd things: Every window was locked, as was the door to the basement. None of the lights were on, and they didn't come on even when Keith flipped the switches. He checked the breakers to see if anything was wrong with them, but nothing appeared to be. Then again, he wasn't an electrician. He decided to look it up, but found that the WiFi wasn't working either. 

“What the fuck.” 

Keith trudged into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. He let his body go loose, let his phone slide out of his hand. He stayed there, breathing with his mouth open. This was fine. Everything was just fucking  _ peachy _ \- And the angry, burning, boiling heat beneath his skin was  _ fine _ , the lack of electricity was  _ fine _ , Krolia’s absence was  _ fine _ . It was  _ fine _ that he’d hurt the closest things he had to friends his own age, it was  _ fine _ everyone knew he was a Weaver. Everything was fucking  _ fine _ . He was fine. 

“Fuck!” He shouted, and rolled over. He punched one of the cushions as hard as he could, and the lack of pain in his knuckles just made him want to hit harder. Keith punched the cushion was hard as he could, a lump forming in his throat. He needed it to break, needed it to crack under his hands, but it was just a pillow. It was soft and unbreakable. His heart raced, and a different kind of heat began building up behind his eyes. 

“Fuck everything!” He screamed, and picked up the pillow. He threw it as hard as he could across the room. It hit the wall and fell uselessly on the floor, because it couldn't break the wall, because it was a fucking pillow. Keith shot to his feet, and bit the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood. He stomped through the living room and out the front door, relishing in the sounds of his shoes pounding against the floor. 

He was nearly running by the time he got outside. He kicked the grill of the car when he passed it, storming into the woods. He felt that kick in every step he took, and it was good. The burning in his legs was good. He kept going, almost sprinting through the woods without a clue where he was going. Why couldn't anything be okay? Why was nothing good allowed to happen to him? Why, fucking why? Was it because of what he could do? His life was fucked, just because he was born a damn Pyromancer. 

Keith’s foot caught on a tree root. In that second, everything stopped. The burning in his ankle increased tenfold, and his body went down. He fell through a bush before scraping his shoulder against the base of the tree and rolling to a stop on the ground. Hot tears slipped from his eyes and down his cheeks. He was sure they were boiling and his face would be burned away by the time he stopped. His sides ached, and his legs were on fire. When he tried to sit up, he was met with a painful sting all up his right side. It stung when he was still, and stung worse when he moved.  _ Fucking good _ . 

Keith curled into a fetal position, holding himself around the middle, and cried into the dirt. Everything fucking hurt. His body ached, his chest and throat felt like they were collapsing in on themselves. He wondered if he was cursed. He had to be. When was the last time anything in his life had gone right? Even the bliss of freshman year had sucked. His dad was never home, and he didn't have a mom. Most of his childhood, he hadn't been able to control his stupid powers. 

Whenever he was scared or sad or angry, fire had to come to his rescue. He’d burned up more homework papers and clothes than he’d care to admit, as well as food and more important things. Usually it was fine, because someone could just put it out, but there were times like…Like last Friday, and they were the absolute worst. 

Sometimes, it was other people that drove Keith over the edge, made him lash out. The man at the bar, Nadia, James…They were just part of a long list of people he’d hurt. He wished he could be gentle. But he was born a Pyromancer. He wasn't made to be gentle. He was made to burn and destroy and win wars. He hugged himself tighter, and then pulled his arms into his shirt. 

_ Shiro wouldn't want this from you _ . He wanted to ignore that thought, but he just couldn't. He wondered what Shiro would do in his shoes. Then again, Shiro could never do anything as bad as what Keith had done. Shiro was perfect, even if he did happen to be a Weaver. His element was air, which only made him more perfect. He’d be disappointed if Keith told him why he was now living in Vermont. 

Keith rolled onto his back, and clasped his hands over his stomach. Why did Pyromancers need to exist? There wasn't any good they could do outside a fire department. The only things his so called ‘gift’ could do were destroy things and hurt people. He lifted one hand, and snapped his fingers. A tiny, pathetic flame sprung up from his palm. 

“I wonder if I can just…get rid of you,” He mused softly. He rotated his wrist, eyes fixed on the flames emanating from his skin. It was beautiful in the way death was, and soft like a dog’s tongue. He curled his fingers into a fist, and the fire went out. Fire was weak to two elements, if he remembered correctly. Water and earth. Perhaps he could find someone in town to stamp out the fire inside of him. 

A raindrop hit his cheek. He felt no pain, but immediately lifted a hand to wipe it away. If it were to start raining…No. Keith had been outside in the rain before. He’d gone swimming before, and the worst that had happened to him was a slight sting when he’d been in the water too long. Rain wouldn't hurt him. With a sigh, he stood, using the tree next to him for balance. The topsoil here was relatively exposed and decently wet, rendering his footprints from his rampage into the woods visible. He followed them until he reached the house. By that time, he was soaked. His skin burned, stronger along the side he scraped against the tree. 

The door was still wide open, and all the lights were off. He sprinted from the edge of the woods to the door, breathing hard. He kicked off his shoes, and stripped off his socks. He considered drying them with his fire, but decided against it. With his luck, he’d burn them to ashes and burn the house down. 

Instead, Keith headed for the bathroom. He put his wet socks, and the rest of his wet clothes, in the sink. He ran back to his room, cupping himself with both hands, even though he was alone in the house. He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Just as soon as he did, he heard the sound of something dull tapping against wood under the sound of heavy panting. He looked up and saw Kosmo running towards him at full speed. He barely had time to react before Kosmo rammed into his side, knocking him over. 

“Hey!” Keith laughed softly, “How’s my favorite boy in the whole world?” He scratched Kosmo under the chin, behind the ears- The works. He spent quite a while cuddling with Kosmo on the floor of his room. Dogs were so much easier than people. He understood them. Maybe that was why Kosmo made up fifty percent of his total friends. 

 

Three days passed before Krolia returned. She walked into the house while Keith was splayed out on the couch, reading the book version of The Princess Bride. The sound of the door opening shocked him enough to make him jump, sending the book flying. Pulse racing, he glared at Krolia.

“Welcome home,” He sneered, enough venom in his voice to make her flinch slightly. 

“Hello, Keith. How’ve you been?” She asked. She slid off her shoes and set down her bag, as if she’d only been gone a couple hours. 

“The power’s been out since you left.” 

“Oh.” All she had to say was ‘oh?’ “You got the groceries into the fridge, right?” Keith clenched his jaw. 

“Yeah.” That development was a bit more recent than he’d care to admit. 

“Good,” She murmured, and disappeared into the kitchen. The whole interaction made Keith want to break something. He forced the heat boiling in his stomach to go down. Getting pissed wasn't worth it. Besides, she’d explain later. Right? Keith sighed, unclenched his jaw, and picked up his book. Princess Buttercup and the Six Fingered Man were more important than Krolia right now. 

He flipped through the pages until he found his place. And he could have gone back to reading if it weren't for the newly appeared black marks in the margins, right where his fingers had been. He took a deep, calming breath. This was fine. Except the book smelled like smoke. Why wouldn't it? Pyromancers were dangerous, after all. And Keith was too out of control not to wreck everything. He tossed the book back on the floor. He didn't really want to read it anyway. 

Keith spent the next few days avoiding Krolia as much as possible. When she was downstairs, he was upstairs. When she disappeared into her office for hours, he was in his room. Sometimes, he walked Kosmo. The woods were a much better dog-walking place than the city had been. Kosmo was excited by everything he came across. Sometimes Krolia would let him out and just wait for him to come back, which made Keith a tad anxious. Kosmo was a city dog, after all. Surprisingly, he could handle himself in the woods. Eventually, they went on walks without the leash. 

It was about a week after Krolia returned that she barged into Keith’s room, uninvited. At the sound of the door opening, he jumped a couple inches in the air, threw his phone into his pocket, and sat up straighter than he ever had in his life. 

“Hey, Keith,” She said, then wrinkled her nose. “Why haven’t you put your bed together yet?” 

“I just haven’t,” He shrugged, and ran his hand across the mattress. 

“You might want to get that done soon. Anyway, come on, we’re going out.” 

“What?” He asked, voice cracking. 

“We’re going out. For lunch,” Krolia repeated, hands planted firmly on her hips. 

“No, I heard you. I was just, uh, surprised, is all?” 

“Oh. Why?” She cocked her head to one side. 

“Y-You’ve always…you know…” Keith made a gesture with his hand. He wasn't sure what to say. It was an enormous and obvious thing. It was in the tiny silences when neither of them was speaking, and the way his voice cracked and went quiet around her. 

“Tell me about it on the way to lunch?” Keith nodded, pursing his lips. How was he supposed to tell her about it when he hardly knew how to say it himself? Krolia flashed him an awkward smile before leaving his room, quick to close the door. It was almost a slam. That was part of the ‘you know’ too. 

Keith let out a breath, and flopped onto his back. He pressed his palms into his forehead and dragged them down his face. He hadn't meant to say that. Wasn't that a perfect summary of his life? He hadn't meant to piss off the Empire guy, he hadn't meant to get so fucking drunk and high. He’d been so fucking stupid. He knew it was dangerous to wear his mother’s old ring. Tucson was a city divided. He should’ve remembered that, no matter how far from sober he let himself get. He was just a series of fuck ups, one after the other, with no way out. 

Keith slowly flopped his body around his room until he landed himself next to a box of his clothes, still packed. Almost everything in his room was still in moving box. Not that ‘everything’ was a whole lot. He’d left most of his things back in Arizona. He questioned his line of thinking as he changed into more appropriate clothes. 

Keith got up and shuffled down the stairs. He gripped his phone tightly in his pocket, and as he got into the car with Krolia, found himself glancing at the screen every couple of minutes to see if he had any texts. He never did. 

“So, what’s up?” Krolia asked, a couple minutes into their ride into town. 

“What?” He asked dumbly. 

“What’s up? I’m sure you have a life outside sulking in your room eighteen hours a day.” Keith grunted. Though he was already looking out the window, he shifted his hips now so he was fully facing the car door. 

“Yeah…”

“Tell me about it.” 

“Why?” Keith couldn't help the bitterness in his tone. 

“Because,” Krolia said, voice strained slightly, “I’m your mom now.” Keith had a hundred things to say to that, and none of them were answers to the question. He tried not to say any of them. 

“I’m finished my summer work when you were away last week.” If he’d been looking at her, he’d have noticed how she tensed, how her knuckles went white as she gripped the steering wheel. 

“I’m sorry about that. It was a last-minute thing. Someone else should’ve been able to take care of it, but no one else was available at the time.” 

“What even was it?” He asked. 

“A case.” She didn't elaborate, and he had a feeling she wouldn't, even if he pried. It was probably illegal for her to say anything anyway. 

They arrived in the center of the town not long after. Krolia parked the car outside a building that looked straight out of the Renaissance. If Keith squinted, he could read a sign near the entryway saying the building was the town hall. He’d never seen a town hall before. At least, he didn't remember seeing one. 

“There’s a bunch of restaurants a couple streets over,” Krolia said tentatively, “You can pick.” 

“Thanks,” Keith mumbled, and shoved his hands into his pockets. They walked in a tense silence down the street. Keith felt the need to say something, but couldn't figure out what. He tried to formulate an idea of what to say the entire walk into what looked like a downtown area, but everything he came up with felt wrong.

Though they only traversed a few small blocks before turning onto a street of shops and restaurants, Keith felt as though he’d been walking for miles. They continued to walk without speaking, now with the occasional sound of a car driving past or others, deep in their own conversations, passing them on the sidewalk. Keith wondered what he and Krolia would talk about, if they could talk. What would talking with her even be like? Would it be like talking to his father? Would it be like talking to Shiro? 

If Shiro were there, he wouldn't have a problem talking. They’d have picked a restaurant already, sat down. They’d get caught up before devolving into anecdotes and jokes- Although Shiro hadn't been one for joking around as much lately. Maybe they’d be having a semi-amicable debate. Maybe they wouldn't even be talking at all. Maybe they’d be taking up a couch in a coffee shop, on their phones, occasionally texting each other and talking. God, that would be nice. What Keith wouldn't give for just half an hour with Shiro…

“Keith, watch out!” Krolia exclaimed, and tugged him into her side. He yelped in surprise, his heart jumping into his throat. The back of his neck burned, as he shoved himself away from her. 

“What the hell?” He asked, annoyed. She pointed at something behind him, and when he turned, he saw some asshole riding their bike on the sidewalk. “Dick,” He mumbled. 

“A dick indeed,” Krolia agreed absentmindedly, “Have you made a choice yet?” Shit, he hadn't even been looking at the restaurants. 

“Uh, yeah,” He mumbled, and gestured to a restaurant a couple storefronts back. “That one looks good.” 

The restaurant was a small, warmly lit Italian place, filled with wooden tables and chairs. Near the front windows, there were a couple tables surrounded by large, mismatched armchairs. At one of the tables, there were four teenagers draped carlessly about the chairs. They were far louder than they had any right to be. They made it feel as though the restaurant was crowded, when really it was just them and a couple other patrons sitting at regular tables. 

They looked pretty happy, actually. They were shouting with laughter every couple seconds. Suddenly, one of the girls stood up. She shuffled around the table and pulled a boy to his feet. She pulled the jacket he was wearing from his shoulders, and pulled it onto herself. She took a couple steps back and stood with her arms out to her sides, T posing. She cleared her throat before speaking, 

“Oh, look at me, I’m Lance and I’m gonna Naruto run away from all my problems!” She was grinning broadly the whole time, and when she finished, she bent her knees slightly and dabbed. 

“Hey!” The boy said, flushing slightly, “What’s that supposed to mean?” The other two laughed at that, and a smaller girl, curled up in her chair, leaned forward to tap the first girl’s arm. 

“Hey, hey, let me take a turn,” She said. She had several bracelets hanging off her wrist. They were all embedded with gemstones the same pale green shade. Seeing them made Keith’s heart shudder before beating regularly again. He shivered, his skin crawling. As if it were a cue, the girl looked up and their eyes met. Keith choked on air, and tried to look away, but there was something about her that commanded his attention. Her eyes were hazel, and maybe it was her glasses, but they were huge, and felt as though they were staring into his soul. She squinted at him, and drew her hand back to her body. She blinked a couple times before pushing her glasses further up onto her nose and giving a tiny half-wave, causing the gems on her bracelet to click against each other. Keith instinctively found himself mirroring her, only to be jerked away from the moment by Krolia tapping his shoulder. 

“Huh?” He gasped, and spun around to face her. 

“We came here no eat, not check out the locals,” She said, “Come on, pick a table.”

“Krolia!” Keith squeaked, and glanced over his shoulder at the kids at the table. The girl had gone back to their conversation. She was wearing the boy’s jacket now, shouting louder than she probably realized. He had gone red, and remained the only member of their little group not laughing. Keith dragged his eyes away from them. He hadn't been checking the girl out. He hadn't been attracted to her, but there was something about her…He couldn't place it. Nor did he really care to. She was just a girl in a pizza restaurant. 

She had no business being on his mind for days to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp thanks for reading all that ik it was kinda boring
> 
> stuff gets more interesting next chapter, i promise
> 
> also, like, pidge. pidge does stuff in the next chapter. if that's not incentive enough idk what is. 
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading. cya next update!
> 
> my tumblr: paraduxkys.tumblr.com  
> (also side note if anyone wants to beta read for me that'd be lit)


	3. Chapter 2: Cr2O7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy yall
> 
> i apologize for the huge gap between updates. i've been busy, and so has my beta reader, (@the-red-paladin on tumblr) and editing just takes a while in general. i'm a student athlete and an aspiring bodybuilder, so i've been in the gym and not writing a lot. i posted the last chapter during a depressive episode that was one of the worst i've ever had, and it's only just ended. about a month ago, one of my classmates was killed, and on monday another friend of mine died, so it's been pretty rough. i want to promise more frequent updates, but i dont know how frequent they'll actually be (definitely shorter than this last gap though)
> 
> anyway, props to you if you actually read all that and didn't just skip to the chapter
> 
> its kind of dark btw

Keith often worried he was going insane. He heard things that weren't there; over thought problems into existence. He tried so hard to understand people that by the time he was able to make sense of things, they had left him behind. In addition, he was almost always awake and alone. That was how it started. 

Even worse, his body felt broken, despite functioning normally. He could walk fine, and his wrist didn’t protest- even when he spent the day in his sketchbook. His physicality still seemed off. He couldn't understand- His concussion had healed, and his breathing was fine. His ribs had been fine for weeks, and he no longer felt the stitches when he ran his fingers across the back of his head. 

There was nothing wrong with him. There was nothing broken, no joint sprained nor muscle pulled. Yet he felt stiff, like something had healed wrong and was bound to break again. But he was fine. Ish. The ‘nothing wrong with him’ wasn't solely manifesting itself physically. 

Keith had always had poor control over the fire within his soul. It was only a secret from those who wanted to hurt him for it. As of late, that control was slipping by the day. It had been small things at first. On one occasion, Krolia had tasked him with cooking dinner. They were having chicken tacos, which were simple almost as a matter of principle. Somehow, Keith wound up cremating the chicken. Krolia only chuckled.

“Your father used to do that, too,” She told him. Keith nodded. About half of the meat brought into his father's apartment left as charcoal. 

There were also serious incidents. Every liquid he came into contact with boiled. Sometimes it was harmless, like when he picked up a glass of water. The cup would fog and steam would rise, but he didn't notice until it burned his tongue and he couldn't taste the next thing that went in his mouth. It was harmless, except for when he took showers. He would emerge with neon pink skin, choking down air. His skin hardly stung, but there was a tightness in his throat and chest. Despite being the element of medicine and healing, boiled water was one of the few pyretic things that could hurt a Pyromancer. 

Krolia’s diagnosis was that he didn't understand how to control his powers yet. She wasn't entirely wrong, although it had sounded patronizing coming from her. His father had been against teaching him anything beyond how to keep his internal flame in check, lest he find it intriguing and take up a career as an arsonist. She didn't know shit about how hard it was to control an internal flame. What did she even have, anyway? An internal duck pond? He still listened to her. He tried to use ice to heal his damaged skin, but every time he touched an ice pack, it would melt within minutes.  

“Ugh!” He shrieked on one occasion, and slammed an ice pack onto the kitchen floor. Krolia poked her head into the room, eyes wide. 

“Are you okay?” She asked. He shook his head. 

“No!” He shouted, “I can't fucking breathe, and my skin is peeling, and everything hurts!” 

“Keith, honey,” She said softly, stepping into the kitchen. He drew back as a reflex. She wasn't allowed to call him that yet. “Let me help you.” She held steady eye contact and stopped a couple feet in front of him. She lifted one hand, slow, as if she was afraid to touch him. Keith hated the look on her face. It was like she was watching a pair of feral cats fighting to the death, hating that she couldn't do anything to save either of them. Even the victor wouldn't live for long- It would go hungry or bleed out before long. The look she had fixed him with disgusted him. He was so lost in thought he failed to notice when her hand touched his. Her fingers sent a cool, almost tangible wave across his skin. Oh, that was luxurious. 

“Does that feel better?” She asked, and took a step closer. Keith nodded, though he instinctively stepped back. Something sad flickered across her face, but only for a moment. She stepped in again, and lifted her other hand. Keith trained his eyes on it as it drew closer. She brushed his bangs aside, and pressed her other hand against the side of his face. That was too close, too intimate. She was right in front of him, so close that she was all he could see. His heart hammered in his chest, and though the pain was gone, his skin was crawling. The cadence of his breath fell to pieces. He needed her to stop touching him, right now. It was only a trade in discomfort. He could handle tightness and stinging pain. At least he knew how it felt and why. With a grunt of effort, he jolted back and threw her hands off of him. As soon as he did, the awful stinging feeling returned to his skin. 

“Ow, fuck!” 

“Keith!” Krolia shouted, and reached out to touch him again. He slapped her hand away.

“Don't touch me!” He yelled. He couldn't. He couldn't deal with that yet. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked, and wasn't that the question of the hour? 

“I’m wrong!” He shouted, clapping against his chest with both hands. The action sent spikes of pain into his chest. He didn't quite know what he was saying anymore. His skin was peeling off, and she was trying to be his mom, and the whole thing made his stomach turn. It was pathetic, trying to act like a mother after she’d slammed the door on him eleven years ago. “And you know it! Bet you wish I was a Hydromancer instead!” 

“What?” She asked, a confused look crossing her face, “I don't understand.”

“A Hydromancer would’ve been so much easier than a Pyromancer, right? You’re all about peace and healing, and all I can do is wreck things.” 

“Keith, that isn't true!” She gasped, “I love you, and your father, elemental leanings aside.” He scoffed. 

“Sure you do.” It was impossible to love someone without knowing them. Maybe she loved the idea of having a son, the idea of him, but that idea was eleven years out of date. By bringing him to Vermont, she’d proved that. And besides, nobody loved Pyromancers. Before she could respond, he ran out of the kitchen, pausing near the front door to tug on his shoes. After a moment’s thought, he grabbed the car keys from their hook. 

“Keith!” He vaguely registered her shouting his name, but he paid her no heed. He felt himself sprint out the door, fling open the car door, and start it up. In the back of his mind, he knew it was a terrible idea. But he needed to be alone, and his bedroom wouldn't cut it right now. 

Maybe things would be easier if Krolia wasn't so obsessed with trying to be his mom. She couldn't really care that much about him, anyway. He’d been told he was a generally unlikeable person. She probably wished he was someone else- which was fair. He sometimes wished he was someone else, too. Even so, he’d managed to concoct a fantasy version of his life where everything was perfect, or at least perfect for him. He had his family and his friends and his city, and had somehow managed to escape the suffering that was practically standard to humankind. 

It was a stupid fantasy. A stupid, expensive, wonderful fantasy.  

Keith spun the car around as fast as he could, and pressed down on the gas. The car shot up the driveway, though he had to slow down almost immediately to avoid crashing. The way to the nearest actual road was a narrow, gravel path snaking through the trees. Until he reached pavement, Keith’s heart raced and his fingers twitched against the steering wheel. He glanced at the mirror every couple seconds, half expecting to see Krolia chasing him. She never was.

 

* * *

 

_ His parents didn't have anything to smile about at home. There were loans and debts, and his new ability to talk. He never tried to make them angry- In fact, he always cried when his parents fought, and that only made them ignore their problems to fawn over him. They always fought worse the next time. His mama liked to calm him down by showing him how sadness was pretty too. She made his tears dance in the air, made beautiful shapes until he smiled. And then she was at his dad’s throat again.  _

_ “We wouldn't be in this mess if you were a Hydromancer,” She yelled. Keith wasn't supposed to hear her, but he always pressed his ear against the wall when they were mad at each other.  _

_ “We wouldn't be here if your parents had some fucking human decency,” His dad yelled back. Keith flinched, and wanted, not for the first time, to take his ear away from the wall. He stayed and listened to the rest of their fight. “Don't you talk bad about my parents,” his mama said.  _

_ “Oh, why shouldn't I? They’re blood purists-” A slap of skin on skin echoed, followed by two doors slamming. If he hadn't taken his ear off the wall, he might have heard a whispered “I’m so sorry.” _

 

* * *

 

By the time he reached a paved road, his breath had become strung out, almost to the point where he was panting. He sped up, the trees blurring together in the corners of his eyes. Briefly, the idea that he was wrong crossed his mind. He wasn't, though. Krolia didn't care about him. He was only out here because he was too difficult for his dad. That thought hurt him more than he thought it would, digging into his chest like an icy claw. 

He longed for the days before he was dangerous, before he was a problem child, a troubled youth. Back when his parents both loved him, before he understood what a Pyromancer was. See, Pyromancy had its obvious drawbacks. Fire was only beautiful when you were in no danger of being burned. Then there were non-Weavers. The general populous already hated Weavers- Fear of the unknown devolved into hatred, and when the unknown was dangerous, their hatred was justified. It was the same with other Weavers. They saw Pyromancers as destructive monsters, wild and dangerous. The legend was, after all, that Pyromancers had exposed Weavers in the first place. Keith didn't know if that was a scapegoat or what, but he’d seen some pretty incriminating statistics.

He remembered reading once that Pyromancers were a dying breed. They were too vile and violent to attract a mate. The word 'mate' made his blood boil. Like they were animals, subhuman. He often felt that Pyromancers didn't deserve the flack they got. Then he’d hurt someone or ruin something, and remind himself why he deserved it. 

Krolia was right not to love him! What had he ever done for her?! He ruined her life by being born. He got her kicked out of her gang, disowned by her family, made his parents poor, ruined both of their reputations- The list went on. He could only imagine how bad he fucked them up. They were homeless Asian Weavers in one of the most racist states in America. He was a terrible son. 

Keith turned onto the highway, blinking. His vision had gone blurry, and his throat was a little tight. It didn't mean anything, though. He needed to get further away from Krolia, from that damn house. Something to take his mind off what a colossal failure of a human being he was. He slowed as he neared the main area of Dorset, and stopped the car on a semi-familiar street. He stared straight ahead, the edges of his vision going blurry. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” He whispered, and slouched in the seat. He pressed his hands into his eyes. This was why he was a bad person, why he deserved the bad things that came his way. Because he acted without thinking, and usually wound up hurting people. This time, though, it didn't seem like there was much in the way of consequences. But nothing was ever certain. 

The way Keith figured it, there wasn't any point in going home soon. Krolia would be mad no matter when he got back. He didn't remember everything he said, but he knew none of it was good. At the time, he'd felt a sickening need to protect himself. Everything was too much. Too much contact, too close to Krolia. Now it was a different type of bad feeling. A dull, heavy guilt, hanging low in his stomach. He was a failure as a person. 

Keith pulled the keys out of the ignition, and got out of the car. He’d parked across the street from the jewelry store, the same one he’d seen a few weeks ago, when he’d gone grocery shopping. He felt- once again- an unequivocal attraction to the shop. Rational thought begged him to turn around, to go back to the house and sort things out with Krolia.  _ Fuck Krolia _ , said a voice in the back of his mind,  _ She hates you anyway. You’re not making anything worse by checking it out _ . With that thought, he crossed the road and entered the shop. 

The window display was certainly misleading. Keith didn't have expectations, but they were somehow still defied. It was pleasantly warm, and almost all light was natural, flooding in through small, rectangular windows above the display case. There were small displays set up around the room. The displays were on short podiums, only waist-height, with various rings and bracelets and necklaces displayed on top. Much of the jewelry involved gemstones, lit by dusty lightbulbs on the tops of the pillars. Sharded rainbows danced across the ceiling. 

Keith wandered through the shop, passing displays of polished brass and silver. There were necklaces and bracelets; rings with huge, raw gemstones fixed to them, as well as rings with fine cut and polished stones. There were gems on chains, and gems that made up the entirety of the necklace with leather cords running through them. Those he found garish. 

He recalled the girl in the pizza restaurant again. She had been wearing similar bracelets. They were chunky, and looked like they’d turn sharp movements awkward. They were nice bracelets, though. It dawned on him as he passed a display full of similar green and chunky bracelets that they came from this very shop. That was a strange thought. He was in the same place that girl had been, looking at the same jewelry she had once looked at. Well, this was a small town. He didn't figure there were too many jewelry stores around here. 

He passed by the green jewelry stand, considering leaving, when the tugging feeling steamrolled him. Before him was a pillar displaying a selection of rings. There were all sorts of colors and styles, but there was one that really caught his attention. It was made of thick brass, with three square shaped holes cut in the sides. In the place of a fourth hole, a jagged, crimson gemstone was attached to the band. Keith wasn't what one would call a jewelry person, but the ring might have been one of the most beautiful things he had ever laid eyes on. Not only was it far more serene than it had any right to be, but he felt like he was somehow connected to it, like it belonged on his finger. It was a promise ring, except he didn't know to whom or what he was promising himself. 

Keith didn't notice he’d been moving his hand until it crept into his vision. His fingers moved, almost of their own accord, to grab the ring. As soon as his skin touched metal, it burned. He yelped and shuffled backwards. He pulled his fingers instinctively into a fist, drawing it into his chest. Oddly enough, when he looked at his fingertips, there was no mark. There was no longer any pain, either. Weird. 

He needed that ring. After a deep breath, Keith grabbed the ring again. It seared his skin, almost too hot to hold. He wondered briefly if it could burn a hole straight through his palm. And then he jammed it down onto his middle finger. The pain stopped. His body began to tingle and shiver. He stared at the ring in shock, flexing his fingers. This was definitely some sort of magical bullshit. 

“Hey!” Keith jumped, feeling as though someone had dumped a handful of snow down the back of his shirt. He whirled around, eyes darting around the shop as he looked for the person who had spoken. It took him longer than it should have, but his eyes landed on a girl behind the counter. He was able to breathe easy for a moment, before taking note of her appearance. 

She was short, somewhat thin. Her hair was light brown and wavy. But it was her eyes that really drew his attention. They were enormous. Owl sized, even. Their size was magnified by the Harry Potter-esq glasses she wore, but- Holy fuck. 

Keith’s eyes darted to her wrists for confirmation. She wore a couple chunky bracelets, all green. She was the girl from the pizza restaurant.

“Crap, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you, heh. I, um, I didn't see you come in,” She said nervously. She began to pick at her bracelet with one hand. “W-What brings you here today?” Keith shrugged. 

“I…I'm just passing through.” 

“What’s that? In your hand?” The girl asked, pointing at his right hand. The hand with the ring; he held it up to show her. “Ah!” She exclaimed, eyes widening, “Great choice. That’s garnet, by the way.” Keith moved over to the counter, and pulled it off his finger. 

“Really? It’s just garnet?” The girl behind the counter nodded, and swiped the ring from his hand. 

“Yes!” She said, examining the ring in the low light. “Pure, 100% garnet. From New Hampshire. As for the ring band, that was made right here in the shop.” 

“You make your own jewelry?” Keith asked. That was…pretty cool. 

“Yeah, our workshop is right back there,” She said, gesturing at an open door behind her. 

“Cool,” He said, and glanced back down at the ring. “Is it, like…” He looked back up at the girl. “Special, or anything?” She raised one eyebrow, and pursed her lips.

“Special how?” 

“Oh, you know, just…Different from the other rings.”  _ In a magic way _ , he tacked on in his head. 

“My father made this one,” The girl said shortly. “He prefers to design rather than actually make jewelry, but for this garnet…He made an exception.”

“Why?” Before the girl could answer, the door slammed open. Both of them jumped, the girl’s eyes opening even wider. Keith looked over his shoulder, in time to see the largest man he’d ever seen walking in. He must’ve been nearly seven feet tall.

“Shit,” She mumbled, before plastering a large, fake smile onto her face. “Hello, sir, how can I help you today?” Keith almost laughed. That voice was so shrill compared to the one she’d been using with him. The man took slow but loud steps over to the counter, not saying a word until he got there. As soon as he did, Keith stepped away. The man looked like he belonged in a gang, and not the Weaver kind. He was sporting a buzz cut, a patchy beard, and a leather jacket with a dragon on the back. There were tattoos poking out from under his clothes, and decorating his hands and fingers. Keith steered clear, moving back to the ring display. 

“Your shipment of tekite in yet?” The man asked. His voice was gruff, angry, in a way that sent a shiver up Keith’s spine. The girl sighed, almost angry. 

“I’ve been telling you no for three weeks. What makes you think it’s in now?”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“And we only get shipments of tekite a four times a year,” The girl said, “We don't have any more!” There was silence for a moment, and Keith felt compelled to turn around, but it was as if there was some energy stopping him. 

“Then what fucking good are you?” The man hissed, and Keith thought he heard the girl whimper. He tried once again to look over his shoulder. It was no use. The energy held him still and rendered him unable to do anything for the girl. She whimpered again, this time quieter. His own heartbeat was the second loudest thing in the room. 

“That’s no way to talk to your supplier,” She said, a moment before she yelped and started to whimper. “Hey, cut that shit out!” As much as Keith wanted to help, as much as he was jerking around inside, he physically couldn't move. The worst thing was that the man wasn't making noise anymore. The loudest noise in the room was the pained sounds the girl was making. Keith didn't even know her, but he wanted to help her. 

“Did your shipment of tekite come in yet? Yes, or no?” The girl was quiet for a moment, plunging the shop into a silence that felt eternal. Keith almost flinched when she spoke up again. 

“Do you think my answer changed since the first time you asked? Ah!” Keith finally broke free from the forces holding him back and whirled around, in time to see the man gripping the girl’s wrist in a large, meaty hand. The skin around his hand had gone stark white. Her fingers twitched uselessly, and her glasses were gone. 

“When are you getting the fucking tekite?!” He asked, and the girl shook her head, eyes screwed shut.

“I’m not telling you- Ah!” She yelped again as the man twisted her wrist back towards himself. Keith hadn't known wrists could do that. Her hand looked like it was on backwards. “Please-” She gasped, “We don't have any. You fucking bought it all, we haven’t gotten another shipment-” 

“Fine, have it your way,” The man growled, and threw her hand back so hard she fell. She clutched her mangled wrist with her free hand, glaring as he turned away. 

“Pull something like that again and we’re banning your people from shopping here!” The man, having reached the door, stopped. He chuckled darkly, and glanced over his shoulder. 

“I’d like to see you try.” Without another word, he was gone and the door was clanging shut behind him. 

The girl behind the counter spent a good ten seconds glaring after him. Her eyes said, “and stay out!” but she would never dignify him with a response. She breathed heavy for a moment, before letting her injured wrist fall to her side. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. 

“I’m so fucking tired…” She mumbled. She came out from behind the counter and picked her glasses up from the floor, before sighing and wiping her hand on her pants. 

“Oh!” She gasped, looking at Keith, “Sorry, dude, I forgot you were here.” She grinned sheepishly. He shook his head.

“Don't worry about it,” He said softly, “Who was that guy?” The girl groaned. 

“A jackass, for one,” She paused, “His name is Mr. Rabe. He gets paid to extort me for tekite every other week.”

“Tekite?”

“It’s a mineral. We use it to make jewelry. It’s also pretty valuable, depending on who you are.” 

“What’s he want it for?” Keith asked. It was kind of weird to come into a jewelry store to ask for minerals instead of necklaces. The girl raised an eyebrow, and shook her head.

“Dunno. It’s not my business what his buddies do with their tekite.” She shifted her weight to one side, and crossed her arms. “Why do you want to know?” He shrugged.

“Just curious.” When she didn't respond, he glanced down at the ring in his hand. “What did you mean by ‘his people?’” She scrunched her mouth up, and glanced from side to side. 

“Jackasses.” She said, and returned to her spot behind the counter. “You were asking about that ring?” Keith looked down at his hand, where he held the garnet ring between his index and middle fingers. He’d forgotten about it, in all honesty. Funny how that worked. 

“Oh, yeah. Is it, like…Special?” She pursed her lips. 

“Special how?” 

“You know,” He said, gesturing with his hands, “Special.”  _ Magic special _ .

“No more or less than any of the other garnets we sell. Why do you want to know? Are you in the market for a special ring?” The girl asked, quirking an eyebrow. Keith paused before choosing his next words. 

“Depends on how special the ring is.” The girl huffed, so quiet he almost missed it. 

“That ring? How special do you want it to be?” 

“I don’t,” He lied. 

“Then why are you asking?” The girl replied snidely, crossing her arms. “Sounds like a waste of both our time to me.” 

“What if I think of time different from you,” Keith suggested, crossing his own arms. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he jutted his chin out anyway. If he looked confident, she might think he was. Or she’d furrow her eyebrows and pout a little, and he’d look like a fool. And then her face would go back to normal, and she’d continue questioning him in that uninterested tone of hers. 

“Care to explain?” 

“No,” He said, almost defiant. “Look, I just want to know if there’s anything special about this ring. Anything at all. It doesn't matter if it’s dumb or small, I want to know.” The girl paused for a moment. She shifted her weight from right to left, holding glaring eye contact with him all the while. Keith would hate to be in a staring contest with her. But then she spoke, and he was pulled back into the moment. 

“Like I said before. It depends on what special means to you. Are garnets important to you or just pretty? Is the ring special to you?” She asked. She moved her hands, rested them on the counter. “What does special mean to you, anyway?” Keith opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it. Instead of responding, he looked down at the ring. He was clutching it between two fingers, smudging the shining ring band with his fingerprints. Good, he thought, smudging it up a little more. Now it was his, like how dogs marked their territory with piss. He ran his thumb across the jagged crystalline stone, as if he were flicking a flame from a lighter. 

“I don't know.” He swayed on his feet before turning around and marching straight back to the podium where he’d found the ring. He placed it in the empty spot on the display, and started for the door. 

“You’re not gonna buy it?” The girl asked. He turned back around, shook his head, and left the jewelry shop. As soon as he did, his head was filled with cotton balls and his skin felt tender again. The calmness and serenity of the shop were lost, and his heart began to race. His fingers twitched at his sides, uncomfortable without the ring between them. He glanced down to affirm he wasn't still holding it. The longer he watched his empty, twitching fingers, the more uncomfortable he grew. 

“What the fuck is happening to me?”

 

* * *

 

The car rolled to a stop, but he didn't take the key out of the ignition. Instead, he stared, wondering if what he had done could be considered stealing. Did it count if he felt like he had to leave or his chest would implode? He whined to himself. It wasn't fucking fair. His entire body ached, especially his chest. Now with the added bonus of Krolia's impending rage the second he opened the door. Well, she had probably been pissed at him since before he ran out.

“What’s wrong with me?” He pondered aloud, before his eyes slipped back to the car key. His hand shaking, he removed the key from the ignition and shoved it into his pocket. He left the car, and walked up to the house, pausing in front of the door. Was it even worth it to go back inside? When he’d run away in the past, his dad had always been furious with him when he returned. Sure, he was happy Keith had returned safe and alive, but he would remind him for weeks how stupid it was to run away. 

With a deep breath, he opened the door. Not ten seconds after he was inside, Krolia appeared in front of him, stone-faced. Shit.

“I’m sorry,” He muttered, looking down. 

“I’m not mad at you.” Keith looked up. What? That was new. He searched her face for any expression of anger, but he couldn't find it. Her jaw was relaxed, and her eyes weren't squinted- Something his father had done when he was mad. Even her posture was calm. Her hands were at her sides, and she wore a short sleeved shirt, showing off her tattoos and the scars on her forearms. 

“You’re not?” She shook her head. 

“No. I have nothing to be mad about. Rather, I’m…disappointed. A bit woeful. But not mad. In fact, I should be apologizing to you.” She paused a moment, looking down, then back up again. Her eyes danced around the entryway before settling on his. “I’m sorry, Keith. I didn't respect your boundaries. I’ll try to do better in the future.”

He wanted to speak. This was the part where he should accept her apology, or at least say something back. But his lips felt sewn shut, his voice ripped from his throat. The longer he stayed silent, the more he wanted to say something. The more he tried to speak, the more herculean a feat it seemed to open his mouth. 

“You don't have to accept it, or even like it, but we’re family. It’s going to be weird and difficult, but you have to try, Keith. You can hate me, but you can't just run away when you don't like something. God knows if I did that I’d never be in the same town for more than a night…” She paused a moment, before looking up into his eyes. “Please never forget that I love you.”  _ She’s lying _ , whispered the voice in his head.  _ She doesn't even know you. _ She didn't even mean this version of him. She meant the six year old she left behind. 

Krolia lifted her hand, then hesitated. She clenched her fingers into a fist, then frowned, pouting a little. Keith was struck by how young she looked. She was only thirty-five, but she could’ve passed for ten years younger. Maybe it was the hair dye, or the tattoos, or smoothness of her skin, but she looked too young to be a mother. When he looked at her, he saw he’d done much worse than run away or send James and Nadia to the hospital. He had stolen her future. 

Krolia let her hand fall to her side, and sighed. Her voice was somewhat hoarse, and though her skin was devoid of most imperfections, there were dark bags under her blank eyes. She was young, yes, but she was also incredibly tired. Krolia let her hand fall. 

“What do you want for dinner?” She sighed, turning around. What? She wasn't supposed to say that. She was supposed to let him know just how inconvenient he was, not forgive and forget. She appeared to be serious, though, as she walked into the kitchen and started throwing open cabinet doors. 

“I don't care,” Keith muttered, following her. As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, Kosmo, who had been lounging under the table, scrambled to his paws. He banged his head on one of the chairs, eliciting a small laugh from Keith. 

“Hey, boy,” He said, and knelt to meet the dog. He ruffled the fur between Kosmo’s ears, and smiled at the way his tail beat against the leg of the table. 

“Is chicken and brussel sprouts okay with you?” Krolia asked. Keith nodded, then remembered she wasn't facing him, and answered yes. As she began cooking, Keith wondered if he should leave. The silence between them was growing heavy with tension. Scratching Kosmo behind the ears was only a distraction, and a poor one at that. When Krolia started cutting the brussel sprouts in half, he stood up. 

“I’m gonna go to my room now,” He said. God, did his voice always sound that tiny? Krolia paused, and then nodded in acknowledgement, so he left the kitchen. Kosmo trotted up the stairs after him. Keith ran to his room as soon as he made it up the stairs, crashing onto his mattress and curling into a fetal position. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey boys so i've sort of lost my interest in voltron, but i still had like 40 pages of fic written and unpublished so here ya go
> 
> (unedited btw)

Keith ate quickly, shoveling two or three brussels sprouts into his mouth at a time, hardly cutting his chicken before he tore into it with his teeth. When he was finished, he rinsed his plate off and crammed it in the dishwasher. 

“I’m gonna go walk Kosmo now,” He announced on his way to the door. 

“Wait, no!” Krolia shouted, following him. She stepped in front of him, blocking the light of the dying sun. 

“Krolia, he needs to get out,” Keith protested. 

“I’m sure he does, but I can't help but think you’re going to run away again.” Keith groaned. 

“He hates being inside all day!” 

“You should’ve thought of that before you left,” She sniffed. Keith opened his mouth to retort, but shut it before saying anything. She was right. He should have. But he hadn't, because apparently he lacked the ability to think about future consequences. 

“Which is why I’m making it up to him now,” He said through gritted teeth, “Kosmo didn't do anything.” Krolia narrowed her eyes, and Keith thought for a minute that she might yell at him- Finally- but instead, she bit her lip and let her hands fall against her thighs in defeat. 

“Fine. Be back by-” She glanced at her watch, “-Eight. And, Keith. Please, please be careful.” He rolled his eyes

“It’s only a walk,” He groaned, “I can handle myself.” 

“I know. But still, I don't want to have to work tonight.” He was confused for a moment- What did a dog walk have to do with her going to work tonight?- But then remembered an earlier conversation:  _ “You’re a homicide detective?” “Sort of.” _ He didn't like the implications of that, not one bit. He was only walking his dog; what sort of trouble did she think he was going to get into? Was it because he was a Pyromancer? Was it because of the people he’d landed in the hospital? He knew he was dangerous, but murder was a line he would never cross. Especially not on a fucking dog walk.

“Don't worry, I can handle myself,” He spat, and ushered Kosmo out the door. He slammed it behind him, practically seething. He was so angry he didn't even notice a week’s worth of newspapers, sitting unread on the porch. 

 

Keith sat on a fallen tree, keeping one eye on Kosmo and one eye on the sky and the setting sun. Some bright orange rays of light managed to slip through the dark green canopy. Keith couldn't tell which was more beautiful- The brilliant green of the leaves, or the flaming sky behind them. Nature was most lovely when one was in solitude. With the exception of Kosmo rustling through the undergrowth, everything was quiet. At peace. He wished his life could be like this all the time.  

He sighed, stretching his legs out to lay across the trunk of the tree. He wondered if Biomancers always felt like this. He’d only felt at peace a handful of times in his life. Most of them were like this. Alone, miles- He hoped- from the nearest person, with nothing between him and the rest of the world. He had complete autonomy over himself. He could burn the entire forest down if he felt like it. He didn't, of course. But he liked the idea of some sort of choice. 

Vermont was a wildly different state from Arizona. Nobody could deny that, but Keith hadn't quite realized until he closed his eyes, and let himself relax. Despite the warm air, the log beneath him still felt cool. He was certain there would be some sort of stain on his back when he stood up. The air was also much wetter than home. He half wished he was out in the desert right now, lounging on a rock or a long dead tree, bark bleached by the sun. He’d soak up the heat like a lizard. 

In his ideal fantasy, Shiro was right there next to him. Shiro also didn't get sunburns in this fantasy, so they could stay in the desert as long as they wanted to without him dying from the heat. Keith smiled at that. He often made fun of Shiro for his sunburns. Weak ass skin, can't take a little sun. A couple days later, though, Shiro’s pink skin would fade into bronze. He looked downright godly after the pink faded and peeled away. Keith was a little jealous sometimes- his internal flame had saved him from sunburns and skin cancer, but also rendered him unable to tan. Whatever. He wasn't going to complain. 

He wondered what Shiro would think of Dorset. In his experience, there were two sides to the man. There was the side he let most people see, which was every Prince Charming since the inception of fairy tales, and then there was the side who was actually rather dumb, annoying and gay as hell, always goofing around in the background. Keith’s best friend. The man who levitated him when he was being annoying. He was planning on studying medicine, while the military paid for his education. Then he would join the military and be a nurse on the battlefield. He wanted to help people. 

Keith sometimes wished he could be a superhero too. Of course, he wouldn't be like Shiro. He would be an entirely different type of badass. If Shiro was Captain America, he was…A reformed version of Loki. He chuckled to himself. Loki, a superhero.  Keith was no one’s hero. He was a Pyromancer, after all. 

He shifted a little on the log, crossing his ankles and then letting his arms dangle, his fingers brushing the ground. As annoying as it was to move, Krolia couldn't have picked a more beautiful place to reside. Tucson was beautiful too, but it was a completely different sort of beautiful. If Tucson was death, Dorset was life. A yin and yang type situation. At first, Keith didn't think he figured into that very well, but he seemed to be wrong. In Dorset, he was the drop of darkness on a white background. At home, he was a part of the danger. The sun burned within him, allowing him to strive. Pyromancy made one suited to life in the desert. No sunburns, no risk of melanoma, no pain from the hot ground against his skin. It was his internal flame that screwed everything up. 

He would stick out like a sore thumb up here. Keith didn't figure there were a whole lot of Weavers up here. Probably just him, Krolia, and a handful of others. He’d bet, in full confidence, that he was the only Pyromancer in town. Weavers tended to settle in areas they could hide in, or areas that benefitted them. That was why his father lived in Arizona. A desert was the perfect place for a Pyromancer to hide, as this deciduous wonderland was a paradise for Biomancers. 

Keith opened his eyes, squinting in the low light. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and clicked the on button. The clock read 7:32. 

“Shit,” He mumbled, and sat up. As much as he’d like to stay out here forever, he couldn't risk fucking things up with Krolia anymore than he already had. He tucked his phone back into his pocket, and glanced around the area for Kosmo. “Shit,” He groaned again. Kosmo was nowhere to be seen. He must’ve wandered away while Keith had been daydreaming. He couldn't even have a couple minutes of relaxation without something going wrong? Still, though, it was his own fault. He pressed his hands to the side of the log, and focused his energy. He scorched two handprints into the wood, marking it, so he could remember this spot if he ever came across it again. 

He leapt up from the log, and ventured off in the direction opposite the one he’d come from. He clicked his tongue, calling out Kosmo’s name as he meandered around through the trees. The longer he walked without seeing or hearing any evidence of canine life, the more anxious he grew. His heart began to pound, and he kept checking the time every few minutes. It didn't help. 

By the time the clock read 7:45, Keith was wondering if he should just let Kosmo find his own way back home. But what if there were bears? Or hunters? Or bear traps? Keith didn't know much about bears, but he did know that Kosmo wouldn't be able to fight off a bear. Oh shit, what about wolves? His dog didn't know how to fight off other dogs! 

“Kosmo! Where are you, buddy?” He shouted, nervousness pitching his voice up. “Kosmo! Kosmo, it’s Keith!” He thought he heard the sound of rustling leaves, but when he turned around, he saw nothing more than the same old trees and shrubbery. Even when he held his breath, all he could hear was the wind, faint birdsong, and his heartbeat. “Come on boy, come out! Come on, Kosmo! Where are you?” His voice grew more frantic as the minutes ticked by. 

“Fucking hell,” He mumbled, when it turned 7:53. He didn't even know where he was anymore, let alone where Kosmo was or how to get home. And there was no service out here- he wasn't sure why he expected otherwise- so he couldn't even tell Krolia. She was going to be so pissed at him. “It’d be great if you could, like, appear, or something!” He shouted, breathlessly.

As if by magic, he heard the sound of rustling leaves. His heart leapt with joy, until he heard growling. He turned and ran in the direction of the growling. 

“It’s okay, buddy!” He yelled. Or at least, he thought so. It turned out Kosmo wasn't so far away- It was around half a mile at most- but he wasn't alone. Keith had thought, from a distance, that it was a man who stood in front of Kosmo, but it wasn't. He stopped running and squinted in confusion. Before him stood what looked like a suit of armor, about eight feet tall, thoroughly caked in mud and dirt. 

“What the hell?” Keith panted, squinting. He blinked a couple times. He didn't think he could hallucinate something like that, but he had to be sure. It was still there after he pinched his arms and told himself to wake up, so he supposed it was real. Between them stood Kosmo, hackles raised and ears drawn back. He was growling, though his tail was between his hind legs. 

“It’s okay, buddy,” He murmured, and edged forward enough to place a hand on Kosmo’s back. Kosmo jumped, and growled, before he realized it was Keith. Keith bent down to scratch at the fur between Kosmo’s ears, shushing him. He never looked away from the impossible thing standing before him, afraid that if he did, it might be his final mistake.  

“What are you?” He whispered. The creature’s head tilted to the side, and he flinched. It didn't move. Keith slowly rose to his feet, hooking two fingers under Kosmo’s collar. He took a tiny step forward, sticking his neck out a little further. The creature had no facial features, except for two misshapen black stones stuck in the mud, in the vicinity of eye sockets on a human skull. They were jagged and shiny, like raw obsidian. Keith wondered if the creature could see out of them, or if it could even see at all. The creature rumbled lowly, tilting closer to Keith. Keith wondered if it could hear him.

“Can you hear me?” He asked, his voice full of awe. It rumbled louder, and shifted to stand with its legs shoulder width apart. It extended one arm, straight out in front. Its hand was a bit to the right of Keith’s shoulder. At least, he thought it was a hand. There were no fingers, just a thinner, more oval shaped blob at the end of a stumpy arm. 

Without thinking, Keith lifted his own hand to touch the hand of the creature. He brushed his fingers over the space where a thumb should have been. As soon as he did, the creature roared, loud enough to hurt his ears, and drew its arm back. The arm swung into Keith’s side, hard enough to send him flying into a tree. The world flew past in slow motion, until he was crashing into the tree. He crumpled to the ground, struggling to suck down air. “Fuck,” he gasped, panting as he tried to sit up. 

The creature stomped towards him, with thunderous footsteps. 

“Please, I’m sorry! I didn't mean to- Ah!” The creature lifted him by his shirt collar. Faintly, he could hear the seams popping. “Don't hurt me,” He pleaded, but the creature didn't listen. It threw him to the ground like he was a sack of flour, where his head snapped back and ricocheted off the ground.  _ Please, not again _ , he thought, his head smarting, but the world didn't listen. 

The creature stood above him, one leg on either side, and dropped to its knees. Keith shouted with the force of it landing on his midriff. It was like someone had dropped a bowling ball on his stomach. The creature lowered its head enough that Keith could see his reflection in its stone eyes, and then roared. Keith had to close his own eyes. He didn't understand this creature- How was it even roaring?! It didn't even have a mouth, for Christ’s sake!

He didn't have long to ponder, however, as he began to feel something cold and wet against his skin. His eyes shot open, and he tried to sit up, but he couldn't. There was thick, ice cold mud flowing from the creature's hands. It was coating his limbs, and bubbling up over his stomach. 

“What the fuck?!” He shrieked, “Kosmo, help!” Kosmo ran over, and began sniffing the mud, but before he could do anything, the creature flung him to the side. Kosmo landed funny, whimpering, before he laid down. 

“No!” Keith shouted.  _ Come on, boy, get up! _ While he was waiting for Kosmo to rise again, something solid and hard collided with his cheek. He yelped, taking the hit. It sent his head spinning. He blinked in his dazed confusion, and saw nothing but the creature’s face.  _ Shit _ ! What was he supposed to do?! 

“Grahhh!” He snarled at the creature, and tried to recall everything he knew about grappling. He couldn't focus on anything, and as soon as a thought entered his mind, it was derailed by another strike from the creature. He tried to shift his arms in the mud, but it was like he was trying to swim through molasses. 

“Fuck, please, I need you to let me go,” He begged, shifting as much as he could. He had to make sure Kosmo was okay, he had to get home. Krolia was going to be mad at him, he knew it. The creature only growled, and the more Keith struggled, the colder the mud surrounding him became. His teeth began to chatter, in an almost painful way. That wasn't supposed to happen- That  _ didn't _ happen. He was a Pyromancer, and he didn't get cold. He wasn't fond of the feeling, but he couldn't focus on that right now. He had to get away, had to get Kosmo. And he needed to make sure Krolia wasn't mad at him.

_ Hips _ . He had to use his hips. Shiro had told him that, years ago, when they’d walked past a fight in the hallway. One girl had another pinned down, and was hitting her repeatedly in the face. Shiro had leaned down, and whispered, “If she thrusts up, she can get her off real quick.” He just needed to thrust. Things looked bright for a moment, except for the part where his legs were stuck, nearly immobile, in the mud. His every movement was slowed. There was no way he could do something as fast as thrusting his hips. He could burn the mud into a solid thing and then break it apart- And if that somehow didn't set the entire forest on fire, it might just work. So he decided to use his hips. 

“I’m sorry!” He wheezed, trying to worm his feet into place. Mud began to trickle down over his face. He grunted, pressing his feet into the ground. He could do this, as long as the mud didn't get in his nose.  _ Come on _ , he thought, and thrusted his hips up as hard as he could, wincing at the contact. The creature was surprisingly hard.

The creature made a high pitched chirping noise, and tumbled to the right a little.  _ Yes! _ With all his might, Keith threw his hips up one more time. The creature toppled over, and he took the chance to spring to his feet. Or, he would have sprung, if it weren't for the mud clinging to him and pulling him down. 

He managed to fight his way to his feet, and while the creature was still disoriented, he sprinted to Kosmo. 

“Come on buddy, we have to go,” He muttered. He glanced over his shoulder at the creature. It was getting to its feet. Kosmo only whined. He tried to move, but it seemed to hurt him. “This can't be happening,” Keith whispered to himself, before squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them again. His eyes raced across Kosmo’s body to find something wrong with it. Oh! One of his back legs was at a funky angle. Keith could fix it. He had to. He glanced around, in search of a stick. He found one, and glanced over his shoulder. The creature was pretty much on top of him, but he didn't turn around. Instead, he ripped off Kosmo’s collar. He wound the collar around the stick and leg, turning it into a dodgy tourniquet around his messed up paw. 

“Let’s go!” He shouted, and sprung to his feet. As soon as he did, he felt the creature’s hand on his back. It sent icy fear into his heart. The creature drew its hand back and punched him, hard enough to send his body flying into a nearby bush. Thorns scratched at his cheeks and arms, causing blood to spurt from his skin. He yelped in pain, tears springing to his eyes. When he tried to stand, he was only scratched by more thorns. Once he made it out of the thorn bush, the creature was before him yet again. As he turned to run, it threw an arm against his kidney. He yelled, pain blossoming from his side. He tumbled to the ground, catching himself with his left hand. A stinging pain sprung into his wrist.  _ Shit, shit, shit _ !

Keith flung himself onto his back, snapped a flame into his hand, and thrust his arm out in front of him. He hadn't even meant to do it, but regardless, it worked. The creature hissed, standing at arm’s length. 

“What?” Keith gasped, “Are you afraid of fire?” He swung his hand in a wide arc, causing the creature to hiss louder, like an angry cat, and step away. Keith grinned to himself. Finally! Okay, now he needed to grab Kosmo and get the hell away from the creature. If only he knew which way was home…

Kosmo barked, attracting the attention of the creature. Keith scrambled to his feet, wincing at the pain in his wrist. Kosmo barked three more times, before turning tail and sprinting off into the trees. Keith glanced at the creature before drawing the flames back into himself and running off after his dog. He chased the streak of white fur through the trees, through bushes. He couldn't afford to lose him again, not when there were…Mud men in the woods. 

Luck was on his side, though, as Kosmo seemed to know where he was going. It wasn't long before the trees started looking familiar. Almost as soon as Keith realized that, they burst out of the woods and into the driveway to Krolia’s house. 

“Christ,” He whispered. He glanced at the sky- It was light purple by now- and then dashed to the porch. He banged on the door until it opened, with Krolia behind it. 

“K-Krolia!” He shouted, “There’s a fucking monster in the woods!” She didn't say anything, only gasped and crushed him in her embrace. He grunted, shifting against her. His arms were pinned to his sides, and her hand was in his hair. It was weird, being hugged. She wasn't a bad person to hug. She was taller than him, and she enveloped him in warmth. After about ten seconds, it became too much for him. He wormed his way out of the hug, eyes fixed on her crestfallen face. 

“Look, Krolia, I’m- I know its after eight, but there was-” 

“It’s okay, Keith. I’m not mad. God, I was so worried.” She shifted forward, as if she was going to hug him again. He flinched, and she stopped. “I’m sorry,” She whispered, looking down. “I know I’m the last person you want to be around right now, but you have to be careful, what with the killings and all-”

“Wait, what? What killings?” Krolia raised an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean, what killings? Haven’t you been reading the news?” Keith shook his head. 

“No. I don't know what you’re talking about,” He said. 

“Oh, Keith,” She said, exasperated, “You didn't even look at the newspaper, did you?” He shook his head. 

“Okay. This complicates things. Come, you might want to sit down. I’ll clean you up.” She lead him into the kitchen, and had him sit on the counter like he was a little kid. 

“I know eight is an early curfew. I’m sorry about that, but there’s been a serial murderer in Dorset for the past few years, and I wanted to keep you safe.” 

“What?! Why do you still live out here? Why haven’t they been caught yet?” Krolia bit her lip. She opened one of the cupboards, and rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She set it on the counter next to him.

“Oh, you’re filthy,” She murmured, and grabbed a paper towel. She didn't look at him as she wiped the mud off his arms. “This killer is a special one. It would be left to the local police officers, but…Everyone they’ve killed has been a Weaver, so they decided it was our responsibility. That’s why I still live here.” Oh. Shit. Why couldn't anything ever be easy? He had to live in the town where Weavers were being killed! Maybe he had a little extra protection, living with Krolia and all, but what if he didn't? What if he’d just seen the killer’s face, what if he’d lead them straight to his house? He really was just a big mistake.

“Oh…” 

“We’ve been trying to get the non-Weaver police force on the case, but since we’re Weavers, they’re not going to listen to us…They don't care about us. They hate us. Especially here.” He hardly heard a single word she said. 

“Krolia,” He said, “I think I saw them in the woods.” All color drained from her face. 

“Oh no,” She murmured. Her eyes trailed down to his arms, covered in drying blood and mud. “You have to tell me, right now, everything that happened.” So he did, launching into a panicked explanation of how he lost Kosmo, and found him with the creature. 

“And then, when I touched it, it attacked me!” 

“Keith, slow down,” She said, “Take a deep breath, please.” He gulped down some air, and continued talking, albeit slower. 

“It was huge. Eight feet tall, at least. It looked like a person, but bigger and covered in mud. It didn't have a face, just two black stones where the eyes should have been.” Krolia furrowed her brow. 

“Well, it wasn't the killer. Although you should’ve calmed down enough to piece that together on your own by now. What you found in the woods was likely a golem. They’re fragmented pieces of a Weaver’s soul, typically used for violent purposes. They can take on whatever shape the Weaver would like them to, but the one you saw is a standard. They’re made of the material of that Weaver’s element. Your golem would look like a man made of magma, perhaps how you’d imagine a demon. Mine would be some sort of non-Newtonian fluid-”

“So the golem belonged to a Terramancer,” Keith marveled. This was starting to make sense. 

“Exactly. Although who it belongs to, I have no idea. The Weavers around here are kind- not the sort to have golems wandering around. And even if they were, it’s been decades since everyone knew how to make a golem. Which begs the question, how did they even have the energy to be so far away from the golem? How did it put up such a fight? And how were you able to get away alive?” 

“Is that hard?” 

“Yes, extremely. A golem is a piece of a Weaver’s soul. It requires immense amounts of energy to even create one, let alone send it out to terrorize the woods. Therefore, the Terramancer is incredibly strong and could kill someone like you in a heartbeat. They must also be on the brink of death. Since you survived, you must’ve done some damage, right?” Keith shrugged. It was a little weird, he supposed, that he had lived. The elements were all connected. Each one could destroy another, like in rock paper scissors. Fire, Keith’s element, could be extinguished by water, or stamped out by the earth. 

“I guess,” He mumbled in response.  

“Oh, this is incredible. Thank you, Keith.” She punctuated herself by opening the bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She set it on the counter, and held out one hand. She twisted her wrist as if she was twisting a doorknob. A small orb of clear liquid floated from the neck of the bottle. Moving as she moved her hand, the hydrogen peroxide shifted through the air to glide over his cuts. It was a strange sensation. The liquid felt almost solid as it pressed against his skin. It was similar to hair gel or lotion, only there was no force of fingers or a comb behind it. 

The hydrogen peroxide cleaned up the cuts that ran along his arms, and then the few on his cheeks. Krolia guided the sullied orb to the sink, where she dropped it and it rolled down the drain. Keith had to admit, that was pretty awesome. Not for the first time, he wished he could’ve been born a Hydromancer. 

“Okay,” Krolia sighed, putting the cap back on the bottle, and stowing it back in the cupboard. “You probably want to take a shower now.” Keith nodded, and hopped down from the counter. He paused when he reached the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Krolia,” He said, “Kosmo hurt himself when we were running away. Can your Hydromancy heal him?” Krolia nodded. 

“Absolutely. By the time you're done in the shower, he’ll be good as new.” Keith nodded, looking at the ground. 

“Thanks,” He mumbled, and left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof a lengthy boy

If you ask a room full of people what their favorite holiday is, at least one person will say their birthday. Whether its out of arrogance or a general disinterest in holidays is irrelevant. Keith used to be one of those people. His birthday was the one day of the year when he got everything he wanted. His dad would plan a whole day filled with his favorite things. They’d go to the movies, or ride his dad’s motorcycle around town. Keith got to pick where they ate dinner, too. And it was a tradition to, at the end of the day, go visit his grandparents. They lived in a shack about thirty miles south of the Apache Reservation. Keith would open his presents at their house. Despite not having much in the way of money, his father always got him lots of gifts. Keith started protesting that around middle school, but his father never listened. 

His favorite birthdays were the ones when his family was whole. Up until his seventh birthday, his mother had always come back to Tucson to see him. She always told him the best stories, and brought him little trinkets from all over the country- Some dice from Las Vegas, a Playbill from New York City, mangrove seeds from the Florida Keys, and more. Krolia probably made up a good 25% of Keith’s explanation for why his birthday was his favorite holiday. His absolute favorite part of his birthday, though, was the end. After they went to his grandparents house, they might eat cake or watch a movie. When that was done, they would all go outside. They would lay down on a blanket, underneath an ancient tree not far from their front porch. They would stargaze, even if it was cloudy. It usually was, but Keith didn't care. He had his people around him, and that was all that mattered. And then he would wake up in his bed, with Halloween to be excited about. 

Keith now believed it stupid to say your favorite holiday was your birthday. It was only you and your family who celebrated it, so it wasn't even really a holiday. By then, birthdays had been ruined for him. There had been the year his father forgot, the year he ran away, the year he sent his sort-of-girlfriend to the emergency room- He could go on. He didn't have a favorite holiday anymore. So whenever he was asked, he would say Labor Day. He didn't even particularly like Labor Day. It was at the start of the school year, and it was like a last taste of summer. The only good Labor Day he even remembered was in his freshman year, when he went over to Shiro’s place and hung out all day. 

This year, Labor Day couldn't come quick enough. The thought had first entered Keith’s mind on the car ride to school. It was only three school days away. Weekends had always been how he kept himself sane, but it was pretty early on for that sort of thinking. Usually he managed to last through September without thinking he should just drop out. Then again, come late October, he could legally drop out if he wanted to. 

But it was shitty to think like that. He had to try harder. This was his last first day of school, and he couldn't afford to mess it up. Especially since messing something up, in his experience, meant burning it. And that would be bad- He wouldn't know anybody, but they’d be calling him an arsonist behind his back. The other Pyromancers- If there were any- would be ashamed of him. They hated him in Arizona and they would hate him here too. 

“We’re here,” Krolia announced, pulling him out of his thoughts. The car was stopped in front of a red building. It appeared to only be one storey, stretched out like a train. There were kids milling about outside, walking alone or in groups. One group in particular was lounging around the front steps, more than half of them smoking. The very idea of smoking so early gave Keith a headache.

The car door unlocked, the click sounding like a gunshot. Keith blinked, and looked down at the lock. He didn't have to go. He could stay in the car. Krolia wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He was willing to bet he was stronger than she was, and if it came down to it, he would be able to scare her off with his fire. But the only thing that would fix would be the issue of school. 

“See you later,” he mumbled, and opened the car door.  _ Please stop me, _ He thought,  _ tell me I forgot something. _ No such luck. He slammed the door without comment from Krolia, and watched his boots walk across the parking lot. He entered the building, found his homeroom, and waited. The day passed within the strange limbo that first days of school always did. The building itself smelled and looked as clean as the day it was opened, and several students were dressed like models. With those things in mind, Keith tried to sit up straight, keep his mouth shut, and focus on what the teachers were saying. But there were little things that kept him on edge- The staleness of the air, the kids in jeans and hoodies, and of course, the class sizes.  

Keith had known this school was smaller than his last one. But he hadn't known just how small until his AP European History class. The class had a total of seven students. Seven! That number alone made him fidget, and glance at the door long after the bell rang. He kept scanning the room, counting heads, as if he had somehow missed ten more people sitting behind him. 

There were some students sitting near the front of the room who caught his eye. He had noticed them as soon as he walked into the room. They had been gathered around one girl sitting in the front row. She sat on her desk rather than the chair, hugging her backpack to her chest. She wore her stark white hair in a large bun, and a paisley romper that went down to her knees. She had dark brown skin and blue eyes, and was talking animatedly- Well, as animatedly as one could while clutching backpack. 

Aside from her unique appearance, there was something about her that seemed…familiar. How could she be familiar? He’d spent nearly all of his time since moving to Vermont in Krolia’s house, which wasn't exactly near town. 

He let it go when someone walked into him, shoving him aside so they could enter the classroom. He stumbled, and then took his seat in the back of the classroom. In between rounds of counting the students and paying attention to what the teacher was saying, he glanced at the girl. He hoped they’d have another class together, so maybe he could learn her name. 

After the history class was over, the students filed out of the room. The hallway was uncrowded, which only did more to put Keith on edge. By the time it was his lunch period, he was practically bouncing. He wondered if the heat he felt had an internal or external source. He had heard kids complaining about how hot it was, which was accurate, but Keith was a Pyromancer! He didn't sweat because of things like the  _ weather _ ! That made him wonder if it was actually him who was creating the excess of heat. What if it was only seventy degrees and he was just so anxious that he was radiating heat energy? First days of school were always shitty, but managing to out himself as a Pyromancer after just three hours would be a new low. 

During his lunch period, Keith sat alone. The cafeteria was too big for all the tables to be filled anyway. He realized, as he stared down at his food, that this was the first time in years that he had actually eaten lunch alone. He usually sat at the same table as James and Nadia and their friends. He didn't speak much, but they included him in conversations, and let him play when someone had a deck of cards. He got along well with Ryan, who sat with the group but spoke about as often as Keith- Unless someone needed help with their science homework.

Not long after he sat down, a group of people sat down at the opposite end of the table. He glanced up at them, and then back down at his tray. Wait. Shit, shit, shit. Keith looked up again. He hoped his eyes weren't bulging too far out of his head. At the other end of the table sat not only the mystery girl from his history class, but also the girl who worked at the jewelry store, as well as two boys with the same eerie familiarity as the white haired girl. Keith rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He must’ve been going crazy. There was no way he’d seen any of these people before, save the jewelry shop girl. And he certainly didn't- 

“Hey! You! Kid with the mullet!” 

“It’s not a mullet, just long,” Keith responded as a reflex, then looked up, eyes darting from side to side. Shit, people were already making fun of his hair. At his last school, people had called him Mullet instead of Keith. Most of them probably didn't even know his actual name. Hell if he was going to let that happen here too. He had to find whoever had spoken and shut them up…He heard what he thought was the sound of laughter, but didn't have much time to ponder before he heard it again. 

“Long-haired dude!” Keith looked up again. This time he saw them. It was the group at the other end of the table. Jesus, he was letting himself go. Or…Whatever the intellectual equivalent of that was. He wasn't quite sure. 

“Shit,” He mumbled to himself, and put up a hand to wave. What did they want with him? He hadn't done anything, unless his theory about his internal flame acting up was correct. 

“C’mere!” One boy yelled, waving him over. He looked nice, Keith supposed. He found his eyes darting to the face of the girl from the jewelry shop. She gave a slight nod. Keith glanced back down at his tray before getting up and moving to sit with the group.

“Hi,” He mumbled, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. 

“Hi,” The boy said, “I’m Hunk.” He glanced up. Hunk. That was an unusual name, though he didn't comment on it. 

“Keith,” He said quietly. 

“Keith,” said the jewelry shop girl, as if she was testing out the way it sounded, “Keith. You seem interesting. I’m Pidge, and should you ever need to know it, my legal name is Kathryn.” She held out her hand, and after a second, Keith shook it. Her hand was small and cold, almost clammy. 

“Do you always introduce yourself that way?” 

“Yes,” said the other boy, who sat next to Hunk, “My theory is that she’s part of an international drug cartel that she secretly plans on involving the rest of us in, and at some point we will be forced to testify against her. Which I know doesn't make a whole lot of sense, seeing as we’d already know her name at that point, but-” 

“Shut up,” Pidge said, “You know I’m not. Besides, if I were to get arrested, it would be for-” She stopped, and then looked at Keith. Her eyes slowly slid up and down his torso. He was hot with embarrassment by the time she looked away, her lips almost curled into a sneer. “If anyone here was part of an international drug cartel, it would be the Brits.” The mystery girl put a hand to her chest in mock offense. 

“Excuse you!” She gasped. Her accent was about the most proper and posh sounding thing Keith had ever heard. She was too good to be involved in any activities as dangerous as selling drugs. But she was probably also rich, and if life had taught him anything, it was that the least suspecting people were the most versatile. But versatility didn't equal member of a drug cartel, so he let the thought go. Pidge cocked an eyebrow. 

“I said what I said. Anyway, Keith, you’re new here, right?” He nodded. “Awesome. If you, uh, ever need help with your classes or other people or whatever, you can talk to me.” 

“Thanks,” He said. He continued to stare at her, even after she’d finished talking. She stared back, a slight curve to her lips. The silence between them felt demeaning, as though Pidge had some sort of advantage over him. She didn't, of course, as she was probably around five feet tall and from the size of her arms, she couldn't land a hit on him even if he let her. It was in her unblinking stare, her cryptic Mona Lisa smile. Though she seemed nice, there was something even more unnerving about her that he couldn't put his finger on. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it once he saw Pidge’s lips move. 

“And… _ other _ things,” She said, moving one hand to touch her necklace, drawing his eyes to the garment. He was surprised to find that the necklace didn't have a gemstone. No, this necklace was a thin piece of metal, about the size of a dog tag. One end was green and the other was blue, the middle a deep turquoise. There was a cresting wave, with a leaf above, etched into the metal. The wave was mostly in the blue section and the leaf was mostly in the green section, but the crest and the stem were turquoise. 

“That’s a nice necklace,” Keith said. Pidge raised an eyebrow, and looked down, as if she hadn't even realized she was touching it. 

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” She kept her eyes on the necklace a couple more seconds before looking up. 

“Hold up a second,” The Not-Hunk boy spoke up, “That’s a  _ nice _ necklace? What are you trying to say?” Keith glanced at the boy, confused. 

“I think it looks cool?”

“Sure you do,” The boy scoffed. Before Keith could say anything, the mystery girl interjected. 

“Where did you go to school last year?” She asked. Keith tilted his head to look at her. Why did that matter? 

“I’m from Arizona. I, um, just moved here in July.” The girl nodded, and gave him a knowing smile. That only made him more confused. Sure, she wasn't from here either, but what did that have to do with anything?

“I see. This town can be a little strange when you first get here, but you’ll learn everything there is to know soon enough.” She winked, as though it were punctuation. And what exactly did that mean? 

“Oh, my bad. I thought you were from Bennington or something. I’m Lance, by the way,” said the Not-Hunk boy. He extended his hand, and Keith glanced down at it for a second before shaking it. Similar to Pidge, Lance was wearing a bracelet of chunky gemstones. His, however, were a pale blue instead of green, some of them almost white. That was a little strange. It made sense for Pidge to be wearing the jewelry sold in her family’s store- Free advertising- but Lance? Either he was also an employee or a weirdly loyal friend. The bracelets, though they were definitely well made, were grotesque. Not the sort a teenager would wear. Keith glanced at his ears, and found them void of piercing holes. That only made the bracelets stick out more. 

“Arizona, huh? What’s it like over there?” Hunk asked, resting his head on his hand. Keith shrugged, fixing his attention on Hunk. 

“Hot.” 

“No shit,” Pidge deadpanned, “I think he means…what’s _ it like _ in Arizona?” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Pidge raised an eyebrow. 

“Keith,” She said, and held up her hand, fingers curled into a fist. The gemstones on her bracelet clacked against each other loudly. “What do you think it means?” 

“I don't know! What’s it like to live in Arizona?” She didn't say anything, just fixed him a very disappointed look. It made him squirm a little, and shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans. A heavy silence settled over the table, all eyes on Keith. His eyes were on Pidge, until he couldn't handle it anymore and lowered his gaze. 

Not long after, the bell rang. Keith perked up right away, picking up his tray and slinging his backpack over one shoulder. 

“Dude, chill,” Lance mumbled, a grin on his face. It fit perfectly into the gray area between innocent and sleazy. 

“Yeah, its almost like you don't like us or something,” Pidge quipped, humor in her tone despite the seriousness of her words. “What class do you have next period?” Keith took a moment to pull his schedule out of his backpack and unfold it. 

“Um…Studio art. You?” Pidge screwed up their nose. 

“English.” Keith hummed, somewhat relieved that he would get to be alone again. And art was also the class he was looking forward to the most. He could sort of draw, and in his experience, art classes were the most chill classes you could take. 

“What else do you have?” Pidge asked, as the group started making their way towards the cafeteria doors. Keith scanned his schedule again. There was a free period after art, and his last class of the day was Spanish. He angled the crumpled sheet of paper so that Pidge could see it. She nodded a couple times before speaking again. 

“Cool. We have Spanish together, by the way.” 

“Cool,” He echoed. They had reached the cafeteria door, so he glanced down at his schedule one more time before folding it, sticking it in his pocket, and making his way to the art classroom. He was the first person there, and sat at a table surrounded by high stools. His toes barely brushed the ground, so he let his feet sway, gently kicking the leg of the table. While he waited for the bell to ring, he pulled a pen out of his backpack and started drawing little designs on the table. It was old and scratched up anyway, and he was sure nobody would notice another doodle. 

Other students slowly filtered into the room, all sitting at their own tables. Keith instinctually looked up every time he heard footsteps, although there wasn't a whole lot to look at. He thought, a couple times, he saw people wearing the same necklace as Pidge, but he shrugged it off and kept drawing on the table. Seconds before the bell rang, two more students walked into the room. Keith looked up, as he had done for every other student, but this time, he didn't immediately look back down. 

A different air settled over the classroom, and he found he wasn't the only one staring. The students in the doorway had a powerful look about them. The boy was incredibly tall, his head only a few inches shy of the doorframe. He had tan skin, deep blue eyes, and long white hair that almost glowed. The girl was about a head shorter than him. She had short hair, dyed a dark purple, with black roots showing. She had heavily lined eyes and wore black lipstick, and just like the boy, exuded a feeling of supremacy and boredom. They remained in the doorway for a couple seconds, scanning the room. 

The boy’s eyes landed on Keith. He suspected he was supposed to look away, but didn't. They held eye contact for a few seconds, the boy almost smiling. The two of them stepped out of the doorway in unison, walking over and sitting across the table from Keith. 

“Hello,” Said the boy, extending a hand. His voice was deep, and just like the girl from his history class, he had one of the most posh sounding English accents Keith had ever heard. He blinked, eyes switching between the boy’s hand and his face. Before he could say anything, the teacher started calling roll. 

“A- Sorry, I have no idea how to pronounce this. A-I-P-H-O-S? First name…A-C-X-A?” The girl sitting across from Keith rolled her eyes, and turned around. 

“It’s pronounced ock-shuh eye-foes,” She said, her voice low and dull. 

“Apologies! Ock-shuh eye-foes!” The teacher repeated, and continued. She continued down the short list of students, until she reached Keith’s name. 

“Um…Keith.” 

“Here,” He mumbled, raising his hand slightly. The teacher glanced around the room until she spotted him. 

“Ah! How do you pronounce your last name, honey?” He cringed at her use of  _ honey _ , but answered anyway. 

“Ko-gah-nay.” She repeated it, before pronouncing the next name- Lotor Kumar- correctly on the first try. 

“Here,” Said the boy, turning slightly in his seat. The teacher smiled, and finished taking roll before setting her clipboard down and launching into a spiel about her class. He didn't pay much attention to the teacher as she talked about the syllabus. It was a talk everyone had heard a hundred times, and he didn't particularly care to listen again. When she dropped a stack of syllabi on his table, Keith snatched one off the top and filled it out without reading it. 

“It’s dangerous to sign something without reading it first,” the boy- Lotor- said. Keith glanced up at him, somewhat surprised to find him reading his own syllabus. 

“It’s a syllabus. I don't need to read it.” Lotor set his paper down, raising one eyebrow. 

“Even so, its a bad habit to have. And you’re what, sixteen? Seventeen? You don't have much longer before your signature means something.” Without allowing him time to respond, Lotor returned to reading his syllabus. Acxa rolled her eyes again, and shifted her arm, revealing that she, too, had signed her syllabus already. Keith nodded, and returned to his table doodle. It had actually expanded into more of a drawing, so he abandoned it. Rather than draw on his syllabus, Keith pressed the tip of his ball point pen to the back of his hand. By the time the class was over, his hand looked fit for a cyborg.

“Can I stay here next period?” He asked the teacher, after the bell rang. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I have a class next period. You could go to the library, though.” Keith nodded, mumbled a quick thank you, and left. As he made his way to the library, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. He sat down at a table next to a window, and fiddled with his pen for a moment before continuing his cyborg-hand drawing up his arm. He stopped when he reached his elbow, only somewhat satisfied with his work. After that, he put his pen away, despite his dissatisfaction with his work. He wound up going to the bathroom and washing it off before returning to the library. 

What did Krolia think about art as a career? His father thought it was cool that he could sort of draw, but had never encouraged it as a career option. He didn't want his son to become a starving artist. They’d had the same argument over it multiple times- Keith would say he was considering going to some liberal arts school, and his father would tell him that was fine if he wanted to be unemployed. They went back and forth from there until his father said ‘you’re going to major in a STEM field’ or ‘you’re never taking an art class again once you graduate high school.’ Keith understood- Art fields didn't provide financial stability, and his parents knew far too much about money problems. Sure, there were some non-arts majors he was interested in. Investigative journalism, political sciences, maybe even law or engineering- But he already knew he was decent at art. If he worked on it, he could totally put together a portfolio by the time deadlines came around. But he’d never be allowed, so there was no point. 

He remained in the library, fiddling with zippers on his backpack, until the bell rang. He made his way to Spanish, his last class. His class with Pidge, apparently. Shortly after he entered the classroom, he spotted Pidge. She sat cross legged at a desk with her backpack in her lap. Hunk sat in the seat next to her, with Lance leaning against his desk. The girl from his history class- He really needed to learn her name- was also there, standing behind their desks with her backpack still on. Hunk was the first person to notice him, smiling and waving him over. Keith did a double take upon seeing that Hunk was wearing two necklaces: One was the same as Pidge’s necklace, and the other was a copper-colored chain with a murky yellow gemstone hanging from the bottom. 

“Hey, dude,” He said. 

“Hi,” Keith mumbled, staring at his necklaces. The gemstone was cut in the exact same style as the bracelets Pidge and Lance wore. That was a little weird. Again, Pidge wearing her family’s jewelry made enough sense not to question it, but two of her friends as well?  _ Maybe its not a matter of taste _ . Keith pushed that thought away, not willing to let himself think about that, when he noticed the silence that had fallen over the group, accompanied by people staring at him. He shrugged, and crossed his arms. Hunk raised an eyebrow, his fingers coming up to touch his gemstone necklace. The quiet persisted for another moment before the group resumed their conversation. Keith stood next to them until the bell rang and everyone scrambled for seats- Except for Lance, who made one final joke before making his way to the front of the classroom. 

“What’s he doing?” Keith asked Pidge. She leaned back, and whispered, 

“He’s a TA.” 

“You can do that?” Pidge nodded, and turned slightly to face him. 

“Yeah, man. He’s a native speaker.” 

“Why isn't he in some super advanced class, then?” 

“This is the most advanced class we have,” She whispered, and turned around. Just in time too, as the teacher was introducing himself. His name was Mr. Ulysses. He wore black suspenders and had his sleeves pushed up to the elbows. He was going bald and looked like he had never seen the sun, but there was a certain glint in his eyes that just managed to convince Keith he knew Spanish, along with the slight lisp he had when he called roll. Keith made a mental note of everyone’s names- Kathryn Holt, Hunk Suega, and Allura Smythe. 

After calling roll, Mr. Ulysses passed out the syllabus, and spent a good while going over it. Keith couldn't keep his eyes from the clock, which was above the door. After about twenty minutes, he had the class split into their groups and play some ice-breaker games within their groups while he sat behind his desk, tapping away at his keyboard. Keith participated half-heartedly, learning that Allura’s last name was actually Trayling, Pidge had once run away from home in order to prove a point about the local police, and Hunk despised plastic measuring cups and spoons. 

Once all that was done, he stayed in his seat, looking at his desk and out the window until the bell rang. Keith was out of there so fast he was among the first people to leave the building. He was halfway across the parking lot when he remembered he wasn't in the city anymore. He couldn't walk down the street and get on a bus; he had to wait for Krolia to pick him up, or hitch a ride with someone else. Fucking suburbs. With that, he trudged back to the school in defeat. There was a lane full of school busses in front of the school, but he had no idea which one he could even get on. So he walked back to the front steps, and leaned against a pillar as he waited for Krolia to pick him up. 

Even though it wasn't that long, Keith felt like it had been hours before the last of the school busses pulled away. He was starting to wonder where Krolia was, as the other kids waiting for rides had started to dissipate. He kept waiting, until eventually, he was the last person waiting. By that time, he’d slid down the pillar and pulled his backpack into his lap. The sun’s angle in the sky was starting to change, and the white light of daytime started to turn gold. He held his phone loosely with both hands, over his backpack. He’d already asked Krolia where she was- No reply- and he’d texted with Shiro for a little while before he had to leave for football practice. Keith sighed, and tilted his head back against the pillar. He closed his eyes, ignoring the slight stinging feeling behind his lids. 

He was so, so tired. 

 

By the time he heard footsteps, the sun was well on its way to setting. He opened his eyes, half-hoping it would be Krolia. It wasn't, and he felt a slight tug of disappointment. There was a group of people leaving the school. They wore athletic clothes and had sweaty, flushed skin. The girls had their hair tied up, and water bottles dangled from their hands. Among them were Allura, Lance, and her backpack that looked like it weighed about half as much as she did. Keith wanted to call out to them, say something, but he chose to forgo that in favor of biting his lip and keeping his mouth shut. They were talking, laughing, and he’d wipe the smiles right from their faces if he said anything. Besides, his tongue was a dead weight in his mouth. 

He watched them as they walked through the parking lot to a pale blue Mustang with wood panelling on the sides. It looked a few years too old to be a seventeen year old’s car. Regardless, the pair of them got in and the car sped away, grumbling all the way. When it was new, it must’ve sounded like the wrath of God. If Keith had a car, he’d spend half his life behind the wheel. It wasn't long before the last of the student athletes were gone. They were all picked up by their parents or piled into their own cars and drove off, like Lance and Allura had. 

Keith checked his phone, which told him that it was 5:19. He sent Krolia a question mark before shoving it in his pocket, leaning his head back against the pillar, and closing his eyes. Just when he got his head into a comfortable position, he was roused. 

“Hey.” He jumped, sat up straight, and blinked. Standing in the middle of the steps was the girl from his art class, Acxa Aiphos. She had a neutral position, and was wearing the same clothes she’d worn to school. Her face was completely blank. 

“Hey,” Keith mumbled. She turned her body towards him, a skeptical look on her face. 

“Why are you still here?” He shrugged. 

“My mom hasn't come yet.” Acxa sighed and sat down next to him. When she didn't say anything, he did. “What are you doing?” She shrugged, 

“Waiting. Since I don't have a car.” She was looking out over the parking lot, a semi-relaxed look on her face. The purple in her hair glinted in the setting sun, and he almost wanted to run his fingers through it. Her shoulders hunched, and it wasn't long before she turned to face him. 

“Why are you staring at me?” 

“What?” 

“Why are you staring at me?” 

“I heard you the first time,” He said, sitting up a little straighter. Axca set her jaw, and looked at him expectantly. He bit his lip, and glanced down at his backpack. “Sorry. I-If that made you uncomfortable,” Keith mumbled. 

“It’s fine,” She mumbled back, and turned back to the parking lot. They sat in a tense silence a little while longer. A couple kids left the building, talking and laughing loud enough to give Keith a headache. They got in a car and sped away. Acxa turned to look at him. 

“Keith,” She said slowly, “Are you-” Before she could finish, a sleek black M4 pulled up in front of the school. She sniffed, and the corner of her mouth twisted up into a half smile. “My ride,” She said, and left. 

“B-Bye,” Keith called after her, breathlessly. She held up a peace sign without turning around, and got into the car. Krolia didn't show up until seven twenty one, when the heat from the concrete steps had started to ebb away. Keith got into the car, hugging his backpack to his chest, and responded monosyllabically to her questions about his day. At that point, he was just too tired to do anything else. When they got back to the house, Krolia unbuckled her seatbelt but didn't get out of the car. 

“Krolia?” Keith asked. 

“Keith. I want to apologize for being so late today.” He scoffed, half-ready to retort, but she spoke up again before he was able. “I’m just…I’m busy. The case I’m working needs me to be on call, and something came up. I’m sorry. This was the earliest time I could come get you.” She rubbed at her eyes, and shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe…I don't know, maybe I should get you a car.” 

“I- I don't…” 

“I’m so sorry, Keith,” She said softly, “Can I- Can I hug you?” A resounding  _ no _ was on the tip of his tongue, but he said nothing. Instead, he gave the smallest nod he could, and let her wrap her arms around his shoulders. She squeezed him tightly, and after a minute of letting his hands fidget at his sides, he lifted them and let them rest around her back. He squeezed his eyes shut, and they stung like hell. His throat ached, like he was trying to swallow a peach pit. He wanted to shift his face, nuzzle into her greasy hair and cry, but he couldn't. She didn't care about him, she didn't, she  _ didn't. _ He reminded himself of that fact, even as she rubbed his back and kissed him gently on the shoulder before pulling away. 

“Thank you,” She whispered, her voice shaky. “I needed that.” She smiled pathetically, and rubbed her eyes again. “Come on, let’s go inside.” The two of them got out of the car and walked inside, where Krolia fixed them two sandwiches- Beef and horseradish on rye- and two cups of tea. Hers was black and his was mint, and they ate in silence at the kitchen table. Kosmo lay beneath the table, and Keith stroked him intermittently with a socked foot. 

“I need you to sign some papers,” He said once he finished his dinner, and got them out of his backpack. Krolia read them all thoroughly before signing them and handing them back. “Thanks,” He mumbled, and she gave a tiny smile. He wished it took more than a  _ thanks _ to get her to smile. But he wished a lot of things, and only a small fraction of them would ever come true. No matter how nice the hug had felt, things between them could never be normal. 

“Goodnight,” He told her, and went to his room. 

“Goodnight, Keith,” She called after him. The next couple of weeks were pretty similar to the first day. Krolia drove him to school in the morning, he sat through every class, and Krolia picked him up around four. He started learning how to talk to Pidge and her whole friend group, while simultaneously learning how to talk to the kids in his art class, Acxa and Lotor. They were mysterious people, and both of them were supremely talented, although in vastly different ways. Lotor had a realistic art style, whereas Acxa’s was surprisingly cartoonish. 

“I wish we were allowed to work with spray paint,” She had remarked one day, in the longest sentence Keith had yet heard her say. While he was deeply intrigued with the pair of them- And the black-stoned rings they both wore- he much prefered Pidge’s friend group. Hanging out with them was like doing shots. They were louder, yes, but also much more fun. His sides ached from trying not to laugh after every lunch period. Spanish, which they all had together, was unsurprisingly the class in which Keith got the least amount of work done. He let himself get dragged into Pidge and Lance’s stupid arguments, and let himself listen to Hunk ramble about science and all the cooking shows he watched on Netflix. He’d even convinced Keith to start watching a few. 

And then a conflict of interests emerged. 

“Keith,” Acxa said one day, as they were leaving the art classroom, “What class do you have next period?” 

“N-Nothing. There’s a hole in my schedule,” He replied. She hummed, 

“I’ve got Spanish. Walk with me.” So he did. They didn't speak as they walked, and the longer the silence went, the more pressure Keith felt to say something. That is, until Acxa turned away from Mr. Ulysses’ classroom and lead him to an uncrowded part of the hallway, in front of a closed girl’s bathroom. 

“Hold this,” She said, and handed him her backpack. Keith almost dropped it in his surprise. “And stand in front of me.” He shifted slightly, blocking her from most people’s range of vision. She clicked her tongue, and produced a bobby pin from her hair. She bent down, and began fiddling with the lock. 

“I don't think you’re supposed to be-”

“I’m not,” She deadpanned, not looking up from what she was doing. Keith glanced over his shoulder. 

“What if someone sees?” 

“They will.” 

“If we get in trouble for this-” 

“Relax,” She said, and stood up. She tucked the bobby pin back into her hair, swiped her backpack from Keith’s hands, and threw the bathroom door open. He followed her inside after a moment, finding her fiddling with the ring on her pinky. 

“Are you a Weaver?” She asked. He didn't feel anything for about three seconds after she asked. His mind was completely blank. Her voice didn't even echo around in his head. All he was capable of was staring at her lips and her slightly smudged black lipstick. And then he felt everything. His ears were on fire- And they could have been, although he didn't smell his hair burning.  _ No, no, no _ …She couldn't possibly know that. How?! He hadn't told anybody, and he’d been really good about controlling himself at school.

“No,” He said firmly, although he could feel his throat closing up and his eyes burning. Acxa raised one eyebrow, sending him back to the last time people found out he was a Pyromancer. He became a disgusting freak, murderous, unintelligent. People were afraid to touch him in the halls. The other Weavers stopped talking to him, and the other Pyromancers suddenly hated him. And he endured it, going ostracized until…Well, pretty much until moving to Dorset. 

“Woah, hey, don't cry,” Acxa said softly, planting her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off, and turned away. “I promise I won't tell anybody.” He believed her, but that was the least of his problems. Someone  _ knew _ , and when someone knew, they were never alone. 

“I’m not a Weaver,” He spat, and shoved past her, looking for paper towels or toilet paper or  _ something _ to dry his eyes. 

“Then why are you crying?” Acxa asked, crossing her arms and fixing him with a skeptical gaze. He glanced up, frozen by the look. 

“I-” He shrugged, and ducked into a stall, only to find there was no toilet paper. 

“Listen,” She said, when he emerged from the stall, “I don't care that you’re a Weaver. I just want to tell you something.” The bell rang. 

“Oh, hey, you should go. You don't want to be late to class!” Keith stammered, grabbing one of Acxa’s wrists and tugging her towards the door. 

“Don't tell me what to do or I’ll burn your fucking mullet off,” She snapped, yanking her hand back and returning it to its position, resting against her opposite elbow. She spun around, putting herself between Keith and the door. 

“You’ll- What?” Keith asked, his voice still watery. Acxa rolled her eyes, and made a flourishing motion with one wrist. From her fingertips sprung a rose, comprised entirely of beautiful, golden flames that flickered in her dark eyes. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the light of the flames, and the purple in her hair turned vibrant. She had a fire within, and rather than turning it into a monster like it had with Keith, it had turned her into something beautiful. 

“Wow…” He whispered, transfixed by the flames at her fingertips. All too soon, she spun her hand back around and closed her fingers into a fist. 

“Yeah,” She snapped, “I really don't care that you’re a Weaver. And I’m guessing you’re a Pyromancer, too.” Keith nodded, his mouth wide open. 

“Y-Yeah. But how did you know that?”

“You don't sweat. It’s hot as hell in this building, and you’ve been wearing skinny jeans and hoodies like it’s already winter. And not only are you not sweating, but you aren't even flushed or putting your hair up. You stick out.” 

“S-Shit,” He mumbled, “Is it really that obvious?” She nodded. 

“But don't worry. I want to help you. There’s things you just have to know, and I’m willing to help you.” That was new. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Come to my house on Friday after school and we’ll talk.” Her lips curved into a sly half-smile. She took a wide step around him and left him alone in the bathroom. 

“Wow,” He breathed, staring after her. He ran a hand through his hair, now noticing the lack of sweat, and found himself laughing, now flushed from excitement rather than terror. He shifted over, and looked at his own stupid, smiling face in the mirror. “She’s like me!” He squealed, and then immediately covered his mouth. That had been a disgusting sound.

Standing in front of the mirror, he realized that Acxa was right- He wasn't sweating, or even flushed. He pulled off his sweatshirt, and tied it around his waist before deciding to just stick it in his bag. After a second, he decided to put his hair up. He made a mental note to dress for the weather the next day- Something he hadn't done in years. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last finished chapter my dudes.
> 
> i'll probably never finish this, but maybe someday i will. i dont really care about these characters anymore so it's incredibly unlikely but you never know.

“You have the whitest legs I’ve ever seen.”

“Look down,” Keith replied. Pidge raised one eyebrow. 

“I don't count in this. I am an observer and therefore invalid in the count,” She said. 

“Do census reporters report themselves in censuses?” Lance asked, his face pinched up in concentration. Hunk opened his mouth to respond, looking confident, but then he closed it and looked down at the cafeteria table. 

“That’s like the FBI agent meme though. Who watches the FBI agents?”

“The NSA agents,” Pidge said matter of factly, and punctated herself by biting into her apple. 

“But who watches the NSA agents?” Lance asked, eyes wide. “Exactly, you don't know-”

“Santa,” Keith deadpanned. Lance’s jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wider. He switched between staring at Keith and Hunk, gasping dramatically. Keith almost thought his mouth would unhinge. 

“Dude…”

“I think you broke him,” Pidge chuckled.

“But- But who watches Santa?” Lance asked.

“Well, Santa’s not a part of the NSA or the FBI, so one of them, probably,” Hunk said, eyes shifting towards the ceiling. 

“I personally think Santa used to work for the KGB and this was his retirement plan,” Pidge said. Lance nodded, as if he was in thought, then spoke up again. 

“But wait, Santa existed before the KGB. How do you explain that?” 

“It’s a Dread Pirate Roberts situation,” Keith said, before Pidge was able to say something. 

“A what?” Just then, the bell rang, dismissing them from lunch. As they gathered their things, Keith explained that it was something from The Princess Bride. 

“I’ve never seen that movie,” Lance said. 

“What?!” Hunk yelled, “I can't believe that. I actually can't believe that. We’re watching it tonight, and I know you don't have plans, because you don't have practice on Fridays, so-” 

“I actually do have plans tonight,  _ Hunk _ ,” Lance snapped, “Allura’s spikes finally broke, and she needs a ride to the store.” 

“Um, that’s what Lotor is for,” Pidge told him.

“That’s gonna take you three hours at most,” Keith said at the same time, “And you need to watch that movie more than you need to drive her to the store.” Hunk’s eyes lit up as they left the cafeteria. 

“Oh, oh, you guys should come! You can come home with me, and-”

“I can't,” Keith said, looking away from Hunk. 

“Care to elaborate?” Pidge asked, after a couple seconds of silence. Keith shrugged. 

“I’m going to Acxa’s house tonight.” Pidge stopped, and threw an arm out in front of him, catching him in the stomach. He winced slightly at the feeling of her elbow in his gut. 

“Acxa Aiphos?” Keith nodded. Pidge grabbed his forearm. 

“Keith, you can't.” 

“I don't know, I think it’d be pretty easy to-” 

“No, Keith, she means you shouldn't. How do you even know her?” Lance asked, “It actually doesn't even matter, but you can't hang out with her.” 

“Why?” 

“Because we’re- You already-” Pidge cut herself off twice before saying, “Look, I’ll talk to you in Spanish or something, but right now all I can tell you is that you just can't do that. That’s not my opinion, I’m sure she seems like a nice person, but for your own safety, I strongly advise you to stop talking to her.” The seriousness of her words was troubling, and Keith glanced over her shoulder to see if Lance and Hunk shared the sentiment. They were uncharacteristically stone-faced. 

“But-”

“No buts. See you in Spanish,” Pidge said, and continued walking. 

“What-”

“Look, man, I’ll meet you in the library during our free period, and I’ll try to explain some stuff to you, although I think Pidge wants to be the one to  _ really _ tell you what’s up, so, uh…see you, I guess,” Lance said, a tiny smile on his face, before he left, following Pidge to their shared English class. Keith rolled his eyes. How bad could Acxa really be? Unless she had done something really bad, like killed somebody, there was no reason he could see to not hang out with her. He liked her vibes, and her advice about his clothes had actually worked. He felt like less people were staring at him, and maybe it was just because he was paranoid, but he felt like he’d been hearing less critiques on those who decided to wear jeans and hoodies in the summer. He felt stupid wearing shorts- His legs were super pale, and on the thin side- it worked.

When he got to the art classroom, Lotor and Acxa were already there, sitting at their usual table. Instinctually, Keith started walking towards them, but stopped himself. Pidge had a fantastic track record when it came to being right. On the other hand, Acxa and Lotor were about the only bearable people in the class. So he sat in his usual seat, across the table from Lotor, and worked on his painting in silence. It was of a woman, smoking in front of a mirror. The colors were muted, almost grayscale, except for her lips and dress, which were the brightest cherry red he could make. Partway through the class, he glanced across the table at Acxa’s painting. His jaw nearly dropped. She only had about half of it down, but he could already tell it would be phenomenal. Her painting was of a ballerina, mid leap, with little flames trailing up her bare sides and chest, flowing out behind her like ribbons. 

Before he could look away, Acxa glanced up at him. She smirked with dark purple lips, and set down her brush. 

“Find something interesting?” He shrugged. 

“Your painting is good.” Her shoulders sagged a little, although it went unnoticed by Keith. 

“Thanks.” She eyed his. “Yours is nice too.” He shrugged. 

“I guess.” And they both went back to their individual paintings, although Keith kept glancing up at Acxa. She stayed focused on her work. Near the end of the period, he managed to say something. 

“Acxa,” He said. 

“Yes?” She didn't look up, and he wanted to ask a hundred questions, but he refrained. 

“How are we getting to your house today?” 

“My mom will pick us up. Meet me at the front doors after last period, okay?” 

“Okay.” They went silent again. Keith found focusing difficult. He was suddenly unable to paint. Mirrors were difficult, everyone knew that, but his looked like it had been painted by a fifth grader. It was ugly, to the point where he wondered if it was salvageable. And he kept glancing at Acxa, which did nothing for his ability to focus. Everytime he looked back down at his painting, it felt foreign to him. Why had he even decided to paint this? It didn't even look good. He should have picked either grayscale or color, not combined them. And why had he decided to paint a mirror when he was trying to do a realistic painting? It was trash. 

“Acxa,” He said again, “Do you know Pidge Holt?” She nodded. 

“Yes. I gather you do as well?” He nodded in return. 

“Yeah, we’re friends.” That felt weird to say. Foreign. “She told me not to hang out with you.” Acxa snorted, and put her paintbrush down. 

“She would.” 

“What does that mean?”

“But why do you hang out with her?” Acxa asked, perplexed. “I mean, she’s Arcadian and you’re…” Her eyes shifted to Lotor, who had been silently hunched over his painting the whole class, his eyebrows pinched together in concentration. “You’re pretty much opposites.” 

“What does Arcadian mean?” Acxa spun around to look at their teacher, who was talking to a student across the room. 

“Shh,” She hissed, “Not so damn loud. We can talk about it at my place.” 

“But-” Before he could finish, their teacher warned them that there were five minutes left in class and they should start cleaning up. Keith kept working until the bell rang, and cleaned up during the gap between classes. He made his way to the library, and plopped down at his usual table near the window. He considered doing his homework, and he really didn't want to, but he decided to at least finish his calc worksheet before listening to music. He put his music library on shuffle, pleased when the first song to come on was Spoonman. A lot of Soundgarden songs held fond memories for him. The first concert he went to was Soundgarden. Shiro had taken him all the way to Phoenix for it. He had also been amused that Keith was a thirteen year old who listened to Soundgarden, but that was a different matter. 

He put his feet up on the table, and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. He could almost fall asleep in the soft heat of the library, and if he’d been chasing dreams, he definitely would have. But he wasn't, so he was just awake enough for it to be jarring when the bell rang and it was time for him to go to Spanish. As he was leaving the library, he realized that Lance had never come to the library.  _ Dick. _ Although he supposed it was fair. Lance was a social butterfly after all, and if he didn't “accidentally” wander into Allura’s computer programming class, the period would have gone to waste. 

In Spanish, they went over the previous night’s homework- A page of translations. One side had been Spanish into English and the other had been English into Spanish. There wasn't much time for talking about what the hell was going on with Acxa, but Keith actually managed to forget about it until he noticed what Pidge was doodling in the margins of her worksheet. She had drawn a series of fish, each one with long and elaborate fins. They were actually kind of good. 

When Spanish ended, he walked out of the room with Pidge. She had a meeting of the robotics club today, so he went with her to that room. 

“So, um. Why can't I go to Acxa’s house?” He asked, his voice quiet, and only a little nervous. 

“She’s a Craftsman,” Pidge said, her voice loud as usual. “Would you consider us friends?” Keith nodded, 

“I guess. I mean, you trusted me with your legal name.”

“Yes, its my most guarded secret,” Pidge said, overly serious. “And I’m Arcadian. So’s Hunk and Lance, and I guess Allura is by proxy. And you could be too, if you wanted. But if you do, you can't hang out with Craftsmen. You just can't.” 

“I don't know what those are,” He said in a hushed voice, utterly confused. Arcadia was a city in California and a craftsman was someone who made furniture and toilets and stuff, although he suspected that wasn't what Pidge was talking about. She opened her mouth and closed it again, and by that time, they had reached the robotics room. 

“Wow. That’s, um, that’s a lot. They are a…group of very bad people. They like to hurt guys like us. If you go over to this girl’s house, she’s going to fuck with you, sooner or later. She’s dangerous.” Keith rolled his eyes. How dangerous could she be? Sure, she was a Pyromancer, but she was also in control of herself, talented, and an interesting person. He had a feeling that going to her place would be worth his time. And if something bad happened, so what? He’d still get something out of it. 

“She’s not a bad person. I can tell.” 

“Oh,  _ you _ can tell,” Pidge scoffed, “I’ve known her since we were seven years old, but your judgement is better than mine, I guess.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“What did you mean?” Keith opened his mouth, but then closed it. There wasn't anything he could say that wouldn't sound offensive. 

“I didn't mean to make you mad. I just meant…I have no reason not to trust her.” Pidge took a step back. Her eyes scrunched up and her mouth opened slightly. She blinked a couple times, and then asked,

“What about because I told you not to?” Keith shrugged. 

“She seems pretty trustworthy to me.” 

“She’s a-” Pidge bit her lip. She glanced around, and made a fluttering motion with her hands. “You know, one of  _ them _ .” Something stung in his chest at the way Pidge had said  _ them _ . Like it was vulgar and dirty, something you couldn't say on TV.  _ Pyromancer _ , his brain supplied.  _ You’re a pair of filthy fucking Pyromancers. _

“No, I don't,” Keith said, gritting his teeth. “Maybe you can explain.” 

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” Pidge hissed, “She’s one of the bad ones, and you’re not, and you can't hang out with her!” She was a little red in the face by the time she’d finished speaking, and before Keith could say something else, someone called out to her from inside the classroom. Pidge seemed to snap out of her anger here, immediately snapping her head to the side. She nodded, and mouthed  _ Be right there. _

“Look, dude, I have to go, but whatever you do, just don't hang out with her. Stop, if you already were. I’ll, uh, I’ll text you.” Pidge clicked her tongue and gave a tiny, half-hearted salute with her right hand, and ducked into the classroom. Keith glanced inside, surprised to see that Hunk wasn't already in there. He also noticed that there were a lot more girls in the robotics club than there had been at his old school. That was good, he thought. But the longer he stood there in the doorway, the more oddities he noticed. Like how almost half the people in the room wore a piece of jewelry that was cut in the  _ same exact _ style as the kind sold at the Holt’s jewelry store. 

“What the actual fuck,” Keith murmured aloud, scaring a chicken nugget of a boy as he walked into the classroom. He hardly noticed, though, because he was too busy thinking about the jewelry. Why were so many people at this school wearing it? Was it just popular with teenagers here? He doubted it. There was definitely something shady going on with the jewelry store if there were so many kids wearing it. He’d never seen anything like it before- Well, never seen anything like it that didn't have to do with celebrities or what looked cool at the time. This whole thing was too much. He rubbed his eyes, and blinked a few times. Acxa was probably waiting or something. In a sort of daze, Keith walked out of the building. Acxa was, predictably, sitting in his waiting spot. 

“Hey,” She said, and moved a little to the right. 

“Hi.” He sat down next to her, pulling his backpack onto his lap. She didn't say anything else, just leaned back and rested her head against the pillar. She closed her eyes, smiling slightly. As she leaned back, her hair shifted to reveal a pair of airpods. As they waited, she started shifting her lips and her head, but only by miniscule increments. 

“What are you listening to?” Without responding, she pulled the cordless headphone out of her ear and handed it to him. Keith stared at the headphone for a moment before sticking it into his own ear, met with a song he vaguely recognized.  _ -the center of it all. I try to rock her in my cradle. I try to knock her out. I try to cram her back in my mouth, yeah. _ Then the chorus hit, and he remembered. Seether, Veruca Salt. American Thighs. 

At four pm exactly, a sleek black M4 rolled up in front of the school. The music in his ear cut out, and he handed his headphone back to Acxa. They stood up, and Keith followed her to the car. She held the door open for him, and gestured for him to enter. He crawled into the backseat, and she followed. Their heads brushed the ceiling. The driver was a smaller man with somewhat wrinkled sun-tanned skin. He had unkempt black hair and wore a biker’s jacket with an US Air Force patch on the right arm.   

“Afternoon, pumpkin,” Said the driver, and revved the car before starting it up. When his hand moved to change the gears, Keith noticed a faded tattoo of a flaming anvil on the back of his hand. 

“Hey, dad.” Keith blinked. Okay. 

“Who’s your friend?” 

“His name’s Keith. He’s like us.” 

“Ah,” The driver said, and not another word was exchanged during the rest of the ride. 

Acxa lived not far from the school. Her house looked small from the outside, but was somehow filled with large, open rooms and large pieces of furniture. Keith figured it was the open floor plan that made it appear so large from within, although he still marvelled at the expensive looking couch and chandelier. And that car! That was indisputably the nicest car he’d ever been in. 

“This is my house,” Acxa said quietly, holding her elbows. “I know its super nice, and I know my dad’s got an awesome car. Don't make a big deal out of it, please.” 

“Okay,” Keith replied, still taking everything in. She looked up. 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah.” She pursed her lips. 

“Thanks.” 

“Great talk.” Acxa smiled with the right half of her mouth. 

“Shut up.” Just then, a small boy walked into the room. He had very pale skin, black hair and eyes. He wore purple jeans and a cross necklace and nothing else. He glared at the pair of them, still standing by the front door. He grabbed a book off an end table and left just as silently as he’d arrived. 

“Who was that?” Keith whispered. 

“My brother,” Acxa sighed, “He didn't have school today. Parent teacher conferences.” She dropped her backpack on the floor, and kicked off her boots. Keith followed suit. 

“So, uh, you want to go to my room?” She suggested, and resumed her position of holding her elbows. Keith nodded, still looking around her beautiful house. What the hell did her father do for a living? Maybe he was in the Air Force, but to Keith’s knowledge, Dorset wasn't near any Air Force bases. And what about her mother? Did she even have one? He wanted to say it sucked to not have a mom, although in that moment, he realized it wasn't his business to say. He hadn't had a mom in eleven years, and six year olds didn't realize how important it was to remember things. Keith remembered sadness, emptiness, and being unhappy for most of his childhood, the start of which happened to coincide with Krolia leaving.

But who was he to say if having or not having a mother was better? He barely knew what a mother was supposed to be. 

Acxa’s bedroom was the most normal looking part of the house. The floor was carpeted, with stains here and there. Some were gray and some were bleached white. Her bed was messy and her pillows has dents where her head rested. There were binders and papers scattered on the floor next to her desk. On top of her dresser was a flat screen television, about as nice or nicer than the one in Krolia’s house. There was also a jewelry box on her dresser, but it was covered in a thick layer of dust. 

“Welcome to my room. Don't date rape me or whatever,” She joked, although the phrase  _ date rape _ struck a chord in him. That implied they were on a date. They weren't on a date- Were they? What if she thought it was? Somehow she’d picked the one thing to say he hadn't anticipated. No, there was no way it was a date. You didn't go on dates to people’s houses unless their parents were out of town or you’d already made out and groped each other. Also, ew. 

“I’ll try my best,” He joked back, although his heart wasn't really in it. They didn't have time to unpack that joke, but he sure would like to some day. 

“My knight in shining armor.” She sat down on the edge of her bed, and Keith sat in her desk chair. Acxa shifted to face him, crossing her legs. 

“So. What’s up?” 

“Plenty of things,” She said, “But more importantly, what’s up with you?” 

“Uh-” 

“So, you’re a Pyromancer.” Even though he knew it was safe, hearing it aloud struck fear into Keith’s heart. He nodded, biting his lip. “I’m guessing you moved here over the summer. Where are you from?”

“Tucson, Arizona.” 

“Cool. I have to ask…Are there a lot of Pyromancers there?” Keith was silent, unsure of how to respond. The short answer was yes, maybe hundreds, although that was an aggressive estimate. To him, there may as well have been a handful. His name had been a curse ever since second grade. He didn't mean to set the rug on fire, it just sort of happened. He liked to tell himself it was because he was bored, but the true story was that he was out of control. The teacher had been giving a lesson about grammar, and he wasn't paying attention. His parents had taught him how to read before he started school, and he already knew how to write- They practiced their handwriting every day- so he figured he’d already know everything she said. He got to thinking about fire, whatever he knew about Pyromancy at the time. Suddenly, he felt a little warmer, and just after, everyone was screaming and running away. Not Keith, though. Along with being more literate than his peers, he was intellectually deficit. 

A small fire burned on the rug in front of him, and when everyone else ran to the other side of the room, he stayed, watching the flame like it was a cartoon. He supposed he couldn't help himself- Fire was beautiful. And then his teacher pulled him away, picked him up and carried him across the room. She put the fire out, but by then the fire alarm had gone off and everyone had to go outside. As soon as he was set down on the other side of the room, kids started looking at him and whispering. They never stopped, although what they whispered changed as they got older.

Yes, there were a lot of Pyromancers in Tucson. You could find them in everywhere dry and hot. He was isolated, however, for his mistakes and for his parents. To him, it was just him and his father. And that was the way he liked it. 

“Yes,” He finally responded, “Almost all the Weavers there are Pyromancers.” Acxa smiled, looking up. She sighed, 

“I wish I could live there.” Keith snorted with laughter, looking down at the floor. “What?” She asked. 

“Nothing. I guess…Tucson isn't what you’re imagining it is. It’s not like a Pyromancer pride parade. Everyone’s super secretive, pretending we don't exist.”

“Weavers or Pyromancers?” 

“Both.” Acxa hummed, and shifted slightly on the bed. 

“It’s not like that here. Everybody knows who the Weavers are. Everybody hates that my parents don't pay heating bills.” Keith smiled slightly at that. He’d never even seen a heating bill in his life. 

“That’s awesome,” He whispered, and she nodded. 

“But a lot of them are Hydromancers and Biomancers. And apparently we are not yet beyond a tribal society, so we split into two gangs- The sweet, pure Bio and Hydromancers, and the dangerous, untrustworthy Pyro and Aeromancers.” A couple things clicked into place. Pidge telling him not to hang out with Acxa suddenly made sense. She knew Acxa was a Pyromancer, and she thought she was protecting him by telling him to stay away from her. Pidge must’ve been a Weaver too, then. Biomancer, he figured, due to her interest in robotics- The code of life wasn't too different from the code of a machine. 

“So…There’s Arcadians, and the other one is Craftsmen, right?” Acxa nodded. “And Arcadians are Hydromancers and Biomancers, Craftsmen are us and Aeromancers.”She nodded again. “That’s shitty.” She smiled slightly. 

“Yeah.” 

“I have another question. I see so many people wearing that jewelry-”

“Those people are pussies. And I don't use that term lightly.”

“Why?” Keith asked, tilting his head. They were just necklaces and bracelets and the like. They couldn't hurt anyone. And, if they did for everyone else what that ring had done for him, they couldn't have been that bad. 

“It’s dumb and immature. If you can't control your own damn powers by the time you’re in high school, you shouldn't have them. And then there’s the Holts, trying to mass market them like they’re some sort of fuckin’ savoirs. They’ve never done any good with that jewelry shop.” 

“Wait, slow down. What?” 

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” 

“What is the jewelry? Why are so many people wearing it? I mean, it’s so ugly-” 

“They’re gemstones. Don't tell me nobody wears thm in Arizona.” Keith shrugged. 

“Nobody in high school.” His father prefered to pretend they were the only Weavers in the whole world. He never acknowledged that half the people at the fire station were Pyromancers, and was even more in denial that Arizona was filled with them. There was no desert in the world without an abundance of Pyromancers- Sahara, Arabian, Kalahari, even the Gobi Desert. Sometimes, when people left the reservations, they’d sell turquoise necklaces and anklets, but Keith couldn't recall seeing so much gemstone-based jewelry in one place. One teacher of his had been a huge fan of the stuff- Holy shit, did that mean she had been a Weaver?

“Wait. Weavers wear that type of jewelry, right?” A nod. “Why?” Acxa narrowed her eyes and let her head come forward. 

“Do they teach you nothing of our history in Arizona?” When he didn't answer, she kept talking. “A couple thousand years ago, people realized that Weavers have connections to certain gemstones. When they’re in contact with their gemstones, they can control their powers a lot easier- Or hide them altogether. I don't remember every gem, but there isn't one you won't find in the Holt’s jewelry store.” Keith’s impulses told him to ask about what gem was the Pyromancer gem, but he supposed he already knew. Garnets. But wait, why was it so bad that some people wanted to hide? Hiding was entirely logical to anyone who’d spent five minutes in a world that hated them. That was thy the term ‘coming out’ existed. If Keith had known about garnets being magic or whatever, he’d have one on his finger right now. 

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Plenty of things. Its lazy, impractical, selfish,” She said, eyes drifting off to the right. “You can take your pick, really.” He disagreed. It was a tool to keep Weavers safe. And ‘contact with their gemstones’ didn't mean it had to be obvious. You could just carry one around in your pocket and be fine. 

“Okay.” Acxa nodded. “Weavers are so weird.” She snorted. 

“So fucking weird.” 

 

Keith didn't get home until late. When he finally rolled onto his mattress- He had accepted by now that it would never be a bed- his head was spinning. He hadn't gone out on a Friday night in years. He’d stayed at Acxa’s house for a couple more hours after learning about what was up with the Weavers of Dorset. It turned out that she was actually a pretty cool person. She was born in Seoul to a Greek woman she had never met, and left in her father’s care shortly after. Her father was still in the Air Force at the time, so she had grown up all over the world. She spoke Korean and German and some Farsi, and had met Weavers from all around the world. Apparently, the EU was one of the best places to be a Weaver. Weavers could vote there, for one, and they could legally marry non-Weavers. They could file for divorce, and choose if they wanted their status as a Weaver to be on their ID or not. Keith hardly believed it when she told him- American Weavers could be heavily fined if their IDs said they were regular humans. 

Acxa was also the most chill gang member he had ever encountered. Then again, it wasn't like he had actually been involved with the Blade of Marmora back in Arizona. They mostly played video games while he was there. Her selection was huge, ranging from Overwatch to Witcher to Michael Jackson: The Experience. They decided to stop after Keith accidentally tripped over one leg of the U-shaped couch. They hung out until nine, when Acxa’s phone started ringing. 

“It’s Lotor,” She grumbled, and answered the phone. “What?” Keith could faintly hear Lotor talking on the other end of the line. As he spoke, Acxa’s eyes went wide. “Shit,” she whispered, sitting up straight. She clutched the edge of the couch, her fingernails digging into leather. 

“Slow down,” She murmured, “S-Say it again, but slower.” That was odd. Lotor wasn't the type to freak out over nothing. Keith had never once seen him, in all of the month they’d known each other, do anything less than flawless. He was humble in the face of compliments, and tried to build people up without talking down to them. If Lotor was freaking out, something must’ve been really, really bad. 

“Fuck, are you serious?” Acxa asked. She ran her free hand through her hair. She looked somewhat paler than usual, and Keith wanted more than anything to be able to hear what Lotor was saying. 

“I know you wouldn't joke around about it- Fucking hell, Lotor! You need to call the police!” A pause. “I know, but-” She glanced at Keith. “-You can't just leave her there. Its inhumane.” Shortly after, Acxa stood up and left the room. Keith crossed his legs, trying his hardest to hear her side of the conversation. It was useless. She seemed to have gone upstairs or something. He stared at the blank television screen, as though it would explain everything to him. It seemed that his new life in Dorset was just one question after another. 

When Acxa returned to the living room, she had changed her clothed. She wore leggings and a hoodie, with the strings tied under her chin. All black. 

“You need to leave,” She said coolly. 

“What happened with Lotor?” He asked. She bit her lip, then shook her head. 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” 

“Did he do something? Did someone-” Acxa pulled her fists out of her pockets- She had on black fingerless gloves- and took a step closer. 

“Get the fuck out of my house,” She growled. Keith raised his hands in defeat, and stood up from the couch. 

“Can you tell me why?” 

“Now!” She shouted, lifting her left hand. From her palm sprung a small flame, and it scared him enough that he listened. He had never been on this end of Pyromancy before. He kept his eyes on Acxa’s as he put his shoes on and picked up his backpack. They looked a little red, although it could have just been the fire playing tricks on him. He opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him.  _ What the fuck, _ he thought to himself. It was his understanding that things had been going well. They had been joking around, and the air in the room had been light. But he had all weekend to dwell on that. Instead, he called Krolia for a ride home. Voicemail. He tried texting instead. 

 

_ i need a ride home _

Me | 9:22

 

**Not now. Work. Do you have anyone else who could give you a ride?**

**Krolia | 9:28**

 

_ no. _

Me | 9:28

 

**I left a candle burning in the house. You can teleport to it.**

**Krolia | 9:32**

 

The very idea had Keith tasting bile. That was, by far, the worst most of transportation that had ever existed. Sure, it made sense for Aeromancers and Noximancers, and sort of Bio, Terra, and Hydromancers, but Pyromancers? No. Keith didn't understand it. The Weaver principal of teleportation was that one could transport their body through that element at will, as long as they were in contact with it and knew where another source was. If they didn't, they could wind up who knows where. Keith had actually read a news story about a girl in California who had run away from home only to wind up accidentally teleporting herself directly into one of the fires. She lived, but she had been lucky. If a Hydromancer wasn't careful, they could wind up at the bottom of the ocean. 

And teleportation by fire was uncomfortable. It made his skin crawl and bones ache. He had barely done it a handful of times since he learned how, jumping between candles in his father’s apartment. 

Keith let his phone screen go dark, noticed he was pouting, and put his bottom lip back into place. He screwed up his eyes, and put his phone in his back pocket. He found a dead leaf on the ground, and set it on Acxa’s front stoop. After igniting it, he touched his fingers to the smoldering bits of the leaf and visualized the candle burning in Krolia’s house. It was scented- This one was vanilla and cherry, if he remembered correctly. She loved scented candles. And it should have been in the kitchen, resting on the table. He could almost smell the vanilla- And then he was tumbling off the kitchen table. 

Keith laid on the floor several moments before getting up. He couldn't- His limbs felt like jelly, like he had no muscles or bones. He was hot, too- And not in a good way. It was one of the side effects of elemental teleportation, just like the migraine he would have tomorrow and the soreness of every muscle in his body. Accompanying every movement would be the feeling that someone had reached inside his abdomen and started twisting his organs around. 

While he laid there, staring up at the dark ceiling, Kosmo arrived at his side and started licking some feeling back into his fingers. 

“Hey, buddy,” He said hoarsely, and after staying there a little longer, he managed to get up and walk to his room. He curled up on his side, and stared at the wall. Every muscle felt fluid and every bone was a GoGurt tube, and the only part of his body that didn't weigh a thousand pounds were his eyelids. He was wide awake, mind racing. With moving being as difficult as it was, he was left to think. Naturally, his thoughts wandered back to Acxa and Lotor. He was somewhat worried, although he didn't know what he even had to be worried about. He hoped everything would be fine, simultaneously reminding himself of Murphy’s Law. 

Keith’s phone buzzed in his pocket, saving him from continued worry. He waited a moment before pulling it out, debating if it was worth it or not. It was. He turned the phone on and found that Shiro had texted him. 

 

**I have some news**

**Shiro | 9:49**

 

_ whats it _

Me | 9:50

 

**I have a football game in vermont next week. Vermont, university of.**

**Shiro | 9:52**

 

**and i happen to have a close friend living in vermont. You probably know him**

**Shiro | 9:52**

 

**I was wondering how you’d feel about it if I spent the weekend at his place instead of with the football boys**

**Shiro | 9:53**

 

_ are you shitting me _

Me | 9:54

 

_ there best not be shit involved, or you will catch these hands _

Me | 9:55

 

**No, sir. I do not fuck with feces.**

**Shiro | 9:55**

 

_ shit, man, that spretty dope _

Me | 9:56

 

_ i think your friend approves of the plan _

Me | 9:56

 

**That's also pretty dope, as you say.**

**Shiro | 9:57**

 

_ yeh _

Me | 9:57

 

_ ill tell him to ask his mom about it when she next appears _

Me | 9:58

 

_ cause her favorite activity is fuckin disappearnig on me without saying anything _

Me | 9:58

 

_ i know get that she’s busy and shit bc she’s a murder detective or whatever but its like she doesn't trust me _

Me | 9:59

 

_ sorry that sounded dumb _

Me | 9:59

 

_ i;ll ask when she comes back in 3-5 business days _

Me | 9:59

 

**You never sound dumb <3**

**Shiro | 10:00**

 

**Also: murder detective?**

**Shiro | 10:00**

 

**Is everything okay?**

**Shiro | 10:01**

 

_ we’re good _

Me | 10:02

 

Keith didn't remember falling asleep, nor did he remember the last time sleep had felt so good. The weekend passed without many developments. Krolia stayed out the entire weekend, not returning home until Monday night. But by then, Keith was preoccupied by a different issue. There had been a murder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> narti dies btw


End file.
